


Feathers and Freckles

by insominia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Canon-Typical Violence, Destiel Writers & Readers Facebook Group (Supernatural), Enemies to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Mob Boss Michael, Mutual Pining, Only One Bed, Poker, Secret Service Agent Castiel, Secret Service Agent Dean Winchester, Smut, Smut and Angst, Strip Poker, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:40:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 43,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28266288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insominia/pseuds/insominia
Summary: Secret Agent Dean Winchester really doesn't mind spending the holidays on the biggest job of his career. But, does it have to be with his biggest rival, Castiel? And does he have to pretend to be the guy's husband?As the mission becomes increasingly dangerous, the lines between enemies and lovers are blurred. The mission has to take priority but Dean never expected to feel anything but contempt for his rival. His rival with gorgeous blue eyes who looks at him so fondly, it surely can't be an act.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 77
Kudos: 212
Collections: Destiel Writers & Readers





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grumpyphoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpyphoenix/gifts).



> Happy Christmas y'all
> 
> This is my gift for grumpyphoenix for the Destiel Writers and Readers holiday exchange. I hope you like it! 
> 
> Huge shout out to [MaggieMaybe160](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggieMaybe160/pseuds/MaggieMaybe160) I mean, I'd say she acted as a beta but that's an understatement for the sheer amount of work she put into it to make it the readable romp you find!

Agent Dean Winchester manages to open the door to his brother’s office with his elbow alone, having perfected the movement so he doesn’t need to put down the coffees that occupy both of his hands. He kicks the door with his heel so it closes behind him and tries to negotiate his way to the desk without tripping. 

Only Sam Winchester uses this office, but the place is such a mess it looks as though an entire department runs from it. There are three desks despite the sole occupant. The one at which Sam sits is relatively tidy but the other two have been subsumed by paperwork which has started to spread to the floor. A small, ragged looking Christmas tree balances precariously atop one of the desks. It’s decorated with a string of cheap string lights and a collection of air fresheners. It’s ridiculous but it always makes Dean smile. 

He leans over the stacks of files his brother is working on and puts one of the coffees down. Sam doesn’t look up.

“You’re late,” he mutters. 

Dean almost takes the coffee back. “It’s my day off.” He points out. “I shouldn’t be here at all. Why  _ am _ I here?”

Sam smiles the smile that tells Dean he knows something. “Bobby’s got something for you.” He says, revealing nothing. “You’ll like it, I swear.” 

Dean huffs a sigh as he sits on the edge of the closest desk. He starts on his coffee looking around the room. 

“Dude,” he scoffs. “This place is a mess.” he says. 

Sam looks up as though he doesn’t disagree, but he doesn’t move. Dean sighs again. “You should at least keep the floor clear. It’s turning into a death trap.” 

Sam stares at him blankly before returning to whatever it is he’s working on. Dean shrugs off his suit jacket and hangs it over the back of his chair, rolling up his sleeves for effect more than anything else. He feels like he’s about to get some work done even though he has half an eye on the door waiting for Bobby to come and tell him what was so goddamn important that Dean had to forego his first day off in a fortnight. 

Dean starts with good intentions. He really does. He grabs a pile of paper off the floor and starts flicking through it, fully intending to file whatever it is. Except, it soon becomes clear that the papers in his hand relate to Michael and are therefore part of Sam’s ongoing case. He puts them on an already precarious pile and moves onto the next lot. 

_ Michael _ . 

And the next. And the next. 

Michael’s known associates. Michael’s bank accounts. Michael’s  _ other _ bank accounts. 

_ Michael. Michael. Michael _ .

Dean grunts. “You know all this is Michael?” he gestures to the mass of papers Sam has accumulated. It’s all on file of course. Every printed page originated from Sam’s computer but Sam likes to work better when he has all the information to hand, laid out before him. 

Granted, it’s gotten a bit much. 

Sam looks over at the mess. His eyes wander to the wall where once upon a time Dean had seen him pin the only photograph of Michael he had. He’d even done the whole string diagram branching out into everything they knew about the guy. The diagram was probably still there, buried under post-its and a mass of other papers pinned to the board that could no longer be made out. It’d been years and Sam still only has that one photograph of him. 

Dean manages to at least rearrange the stacks so there’s less chance of him breaking his neck the next time he brings his brother a coffee. 

“Thanks,” Sam mumbles, without looking up. Dean rolls his eyes but before he can say anything the phone on Sam’s desk rings. Sam holds the receiver to his ear for the briefest of moments before he returns it without saying anything. There’s that smile again. The ‘I know something you don’t know’ smile. But it’s the wrong time of year for a surprise birthday party and even if that were the case, Sam wouldn’t have arranged it in Bobby’s office. 

Bobby is shouting down the phone at someone when Sam and Dean step into his office. He gestures for them to take a seat and even though his expression doesn’t change, Dean swears the guy softens a little bit at the sight of them. He finishes chewing out whoever’s on the line before he puts the receiver down, a little harsher than he’d intended, and turns to Dean. 

“You’re going in,” he says, without preamble. There’s a nondescript, manilla folder on Bobby’s desk that he slides across to Dean. Dean glances over at Sam who looks as though Christmas is here two weeks early. It isn’t unusual for Bobby to give Dean an assignment with Sam present. Sam doesn’t usually grin about it though. He glances up at Bobby before he opens the file, waiting for the reveal he knows is coming. 

Bobby’s eyes flicker to Sam for just a moment before coming back to Dean. “It’s Michael. You’re taking him down.”

Dean understands why Sam is practically bursting at the seams. 

“Michael?” he asks softly. He opens the folder and there on the first page is the single picture of the guy Sam found an age ago. “We got him?” 

“We got him,” Bobby confirms. “You leave tonight, all the details are in there. Michael and some of his big-name cronies are hosting a goddamn Christmas party at one of their resorts. You’re taking him down and once he’s out of the picture, we’ll be ready to bring in his friends.” 

“A Christmas party?” Dean scoffs but it quickly becomes a laugh. All these years keeping the lowest possible profile and Michael shows his face at a Christmas party? It makes more sense when he sees the details of said party. A quick glance is enough to confirm that there are maximum-security prisons less secure than the resort now that Michael has decided to pay it a visit. 

“We know Michael is going to show, we just don’t know when. We’ve already got one agent on the ground. The two of you will work together and when Michael shows his face, take him out.” Bobby tells him. 

Dean raises an eyebrow but he’s not altogether surprised. Michael’s a big name. The biggest. They’re going to want backup on this and Dean isn’t opposed to working with any of the other agents. Well. Any other agent except-

“ _ Castiel?! _ ” he shouts, turning to the last page of the folder. “No. No way. The guy’s barely human.”

“ _ The guy _ has already been staking out the resort for the last week, setting up your cover,” Bobby says with the tone that says right now he’s Dean’s boss, not his de-facto father, and they aren’t going to argue about this. 

“We can’t work together,” Dean says, arguing the point anyway because  _ Castiel? _

Seriously?  _ Castiel?! _

“You’re working with him or you’re off the case,” Bobby snaps. Dean looks up affronted. He’d take Dean off Michael? Over Castiel. 

_ Castiel _ . The only other guy Dean has to  _ fight _ for cases.  _ Actually _ , fight. It’s a wonder the two of them haven’t come to blows. Castiel considers Dean ‘impulsive and reckless.’ Dean considers Castiel so cold and unfeeling he might as well be a robot. He operates on a different level to Dean. As though he exists above them all, moving through the world with detachment, like he’s landed from another planet, another plane of reality. Dean hasn’t seen any evidence to the contrary. 

“The two of you are the best,” Bobby says, a little softer now but still firm. “No one does covert intel like Castiel and no one maintains cover like you. Besides, Michael’s guy, Zachariah, is hosting a high stakes poker game. Merry Christmas.” 

It’s the end of the conversation and a dismissal. 

Sam is already on his feet but Dean sits a minute longer, still staring at Bobby as though he still thinks this is a joke.

Bobby sighs and looks at Dean with the eyes that remind him they’re family. “Dean, I ain’t sending you in there alone. If you can think of a stronger team than you and Castiel, I’d like to hear it. But we both know there isn’t and I ain’t losing the one shot we’ve ever had at Michael. I ain’t losing you either,” he adds softer and the last of Dean’s arguments crumble. 

“Alright,” he mutters. When he looks at Bobby, he doesn’t look triumphant. 

All missions are dangerous. Every time Bobby gives Dean an assignment, they both know it could be his last. But Michael is something else. They’ve never gotten this close before. They’ve never even glimpsed at getting this close before. 

“Castiel’s a good agent,” Bobby says. “Hell, he might even be as good as you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean mutters. “We’ll take down Michael and be back in time for Christmas.” 

Bobby scoffs. They don’t know when Michael will show but spending Christmas with Castiel isn’t an option, however nice the resort is. 

Sam is waiting for Dean beyond Bobby’s door but his grin is gone. Instead, he looks wary as though he expects his brother to fly off the handle. If anyone knows how much Castiel gets under Dean’s skin, it’s Sam. It’s Sam who has to listen to him every time Dean gets passed over for a job that goes to Castiel. It’s Sam who has to endure Dean bragging every time the opposite happens. It’s Sam who- probably found Michael, Dean realises. 

It’s Sam who’s been tracking the guy all these years, just waiting to find him in a spot where his brother could take him out. 

“You found Michael?” Dean asks.

Sam looks like he was expecting Dean to start ranting about Castiel. Which, he really wants to do but Sam deserves his moment. 

“Oh… uh. Yeah?”

“Finally,” Dean jokes with a half-smile... 

“Thanks,” Sam scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

“But really, great job.”

“And you get to take him down.” 

“Yup,” Dean grins. ‘With  _ Castiel _ ’, he thinks but he doesn’t say it. 


	2. Chapter 2

The resort boasts valet parking, naturally, but Dean won’t let anyone park his car. It has nothing to do with the arsenal hidden in the trunk. His car is his baby and nobody touches her but him. Besides, the walk back to the entrance gives him a chance to scope out the front. 

He takes in the exits, balcony access and clocks the two guys sitting outside who look like they’re having a drink but their posture gives them away as hired guards. Michael might not be here yet but security is still tight. 

The lobby is all hardwood and gold edging. Dean thinks it looks tacky but the scene is offset by the tasteful Christmas decorations. His footsteps make an impressive sound as he crosses the open space between the doors and the front desk. The concierge wears a tuxedo that rivals Dean’s own, though his red and gold bowtie nods to the season. 

“Good morning, sir,” the concierge says. The clock behind him shows that he’s got just one more minute left to use that greeting. “Checking in?” 

Dean smiles and prepares to go to work. “Actually, I-”

He doesn’t get much further before he hears his name being called from the impressively grand staircase that leads to the suites. A resort of this standard doesn’t have something as menial as ‘rooms’. 

“Dean! You’re here!” 

Dean could recognise Cas’ voice anywhere. It’s low and rough but he’s never heard him sound happy before. They probably taught him how to feign emotion when they programmed him. Cas steps off the staircase and Dean keeps his eyes from rolling. This is the guy who Dean has to fight for cases? The guy who can’t even keep his tie straight? 

He’s smiling as he steps into Dean’s space. Dean’s never seen him smile before but he doesn’t have long to dwell on it. Cas’ fingers curl around the nape of Dean’s neck and he leans in to kiss him. Dean doesn’t know what the hell is going on but there’s a reason he’s the best. His hands find Castiel’s hips as he kisses him back. Cas freezes for half a second and Dean almost grins. 

Dean Winchester thrown off his game? By a kiss? Cas has no idea who he’s dealing with. 

But then, Castiel is good too. It takes him just a beat to recover himself, drawing Dean in closer. It’s become a competition. Who can kiss the other harder? Dean isn’t about to be outdone, not by  _ Castiel _ of all people. They’re on the point of becoming indecent when the concierge clears his throat awkwardly. 

“Gentlemen,” he says. His tone is professional but his cheeks are tinged with pink. 

Cas draws back, smiling at Dean as though he has hung the moon. Dean smiles back, his face betraying nothing. 

“Sorry,” Cas says to the concierge. He smiles back at Dean. “I missed you.”

It is nothing for Dean to take Cas’ hand. He relishes the way he hesitates before linking their fingers, but it was Cas who started this. 

The concierge visibly forces his expression to remain neutral. He checks his book and then looks up at Dean. “Your husband has already checked you both in. Do you need any help with your luggage?” 

Dean glances down at his single suitcase and shakes his head. There’s nothing in there that would show up on even an advanced security sweep but he isn’t going to leave it to chance and let someone else carry it to the room. Not when Michael’s goons are all over the resort. 

“I got it, thanks.” 

He follows Cas to the elevator and watches as he punches the number for the second floor. Nobody joins them but they don’t drop the act. They don’t know who’s watching. 

“How was your trip?” Cas asks, still holding Dean’s hand, leaning into him.

Dean squeezes his hand. “Totally worth it. How’s the room?” 

“It’s great! We can see over the pool from the balcony and from our room we’ve got an amazing view of the fountains out front.” Eyes out front and back, Dean notes as Cas continues. “And, there’s no one in the suite next to us so we don’t have to worry about being quiet.” 

The doors open as Dean laughs. He doesn’t have to act to find the prospect of him and Cas doing anything indiscreet together hilarious. 

Their suite is between the elevator, a fire exit, and Cas had said there was a balcony, so has at least three points of access. Cas unlocks the door with a keycard and holds it open for Dean. 

“After you,” he says with a smile, holding his arm out as though nothing gives him greater pleasure than to be welcoming Dean to this little corner of paradise. He follows Dean in, the door clicking quietly behind them. 

Castiel drops the act immediately. 

“ _ Dean, _ ” he hisses. “They sent  _ you _ to back me up?”

In an ideal world, Dean imagines himself to be the consummate professional. He would ignore Cas’ little outburst and instead take a moment to enjoy the expensive room they’re not paying for before he gets to work. But this is not an ideal world, as working with Cas in the first place clearly demonstrates. 

“Okay, first of all, I’m not anyone’s back-up,” Dean snaps, immediately on the defensive. “This is  _ my _ case.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Of course it is,” he says as though he’s placating a small child. Dean grits his teeth. “And here I was thinking this was all some misplaced joke on Sam’s part.” 

Dean drops his case on one of the couches. The room is large for two people. Cas has already requisitioned one of the tables to set up two laptops, which explains why the ‘no maid service’ sign is hung on the door. There’s one bed, albeit a king, a desk, an impressive looking coffee maker and a minifridge that Dean has every intention of raiding at the first opportunity. 

In a single glance, Dean takes in the door that must lead to the bathroom and the sliding door for the balcony. He’s already figured out two means of escaping the room if it comes to it before he turns back to Cas. 

“What joke?” 

Cas holds up a piece of hotel stationery with the generic welcome message. 

“Mr. and Mr. Winchester,” Cas says. “I thought it was Sam trying to be funny seeing as this is  _ his _ case and he did book the place. I didn’t think for a minute they’d actually send  _ you _ .” 

His expression remains neutral but the way he says ‘you’ sounds like he’s found something particularly unpleasant on the underside of his shoe. Dean grits his teeth. He’s not going to jeopardise the mission before it’s even started by knocking out  _ his _ back-up. 

“I dunno,” Dean mutters, reading their married names in black and white. “Feels like a joke to me.” 

They glare at each other and Dean resists the urge to fold his arms. 

“You wanna check me out some more or you wanna actually tell me what you’ve got?” Dean challenges. He smirks as Cas scoffs at him. It’s a small victory but he feels like he’s won this round. 

“Rich. Coming from the guy who was only too happy to stick his tongue in my mouth back there.”

“You started it.” 

They stare each other down again before Cas throws his hands up. “This isn’t going to work. You’re being ridiculous and you need to leave. We obviously can’t work together. I’ll take Michael down myself.” 

Dean laughs, genuinely laughs. “Now who’s being ridiculous? There’s no way you’re getting close to Michael on your own. If you wanna bail, that’s on you. I’m here to do my job.” 

“I’m already doing my job,” Cas hisses back. “I’ve been here for days setting up surveillance and gathering intel. I’m not going anywhere, this is  _ my _ case.” 

“Keep telling yourself that, Feathers,” Dean smirks. 

“It’s  _ Wings _ ,” Castiel says, pointedly, even though he must know that Dean is fully aware of that fact. “Are you staying?”

Dean folds his arms. “Oh, I’m not going anywhere,  _ Feathers _ .” 

“ _ Fine _ ,” Cas bites out. He stalks past Dean and opens up the two laptops. He turns one of them around and calls up what looks like a live feed of several rooms. Most of them are empty but at least three of them show movement. “Michael hasn’t arrived yet but two of his associates checked in earlier today. Zachariah,” Cas points to one of the boxes. “Uriel and Raphael are here too, but Zachariah has been the most mobile. He’s arranged the high-stakes poker game that starts tomorrow.”

Dean opens his mouth to speak but Cas cuts over him, not giving him the chance. “We have a seat at the table which I assume is for you. I don’t play poker at this level and I assume there’s a reason they sent  _ you _ to assist me.”

Dean is not going to knock him out. He’s not. He’s not going to punch him in his smug face and ruin that perfectly chiselled jawline. Not until after the mission anyway. 

“We have eyes and ears in all the VIP suites. I planted the bugs myself. Whichever room they put Michael in, we’ll know his every move. The staff aren’t Michael’s but the guards are. So far, I’ve counted two at the front entrance, the lobby and at the door to the garage. The VIP’s have three in their rooms and one personal bodyguard who follows them when they leave. Sam has already gotten access to our eyes and ears and the hotel security feed. He and Bobby are alternating shifts. Any questions?” Cas finishes with and makes it sound like a dare. 

Dean almost, almost, blurts out, ‘Bobby’s on surveillance?’ But he catches himself just in time. Of course, Bobby’s on surveillance with Sam. Michael is the big one. Besides, he probably wants to make sure Dean and Castiel don’t kill each other before they get a shot at Michael. 

“I call the bed, where are you sleeping?” Dean asks instead, plastering his most annoying smirk on his face. He picks up his suitcase and drops it onto the bed. Cas only folds his arms and stares at him pointedly. 

Dean frowns, looking around the room as though there’s a couch he’s missed. He opens the doors next to the bed, on the extremely slim chance that it somehow leads to a second bedroom and isn’t the closet it appears to be. Of course, it’s just a closet. Cas’ clothes are unpacked, he’s even lined his dress shoes underneath his suit in a perfectly formed line. Dean glances at the space in the closet, the nightstand on one side of the bed that’s been left totally clear and groans. 

“No. No, no, no,  _ no! _ ” 

“We are husbands, Dean.” Castiel tells him. “There’s only one bed. Would you like help unpacking,  _ dear? _ ”

Dean rolls his eyes. He isn’t going to compromise the mission. He can wait until Michael is dead. He opens his case and starts unpacking, forcing his breathing to remain steady and comforting himself with how satisfying it’s going to be when the mission ends and he can finally punch Castiel in the face.


	3. Chapter 3

“I’m telling you, the guy’s a robot, Sammy.” Dean says quietly into his phone. It isn’t for Cas’ benefit. He doesn’t care if his partner hears him or not. It’s nothing he wouldn’t say to Cas’ face. It’s nothing he hasn’t _already_ said to Cas’ face. But technically this is a work call and it would be a bad move for anyone to overhear it. Not that they could. Cas has already checked their room for bugs and Dean is sitting on the bathroom counter. Nobody could hear him, even if they were pressed against the door to their suite. 

Sam laughs which just makes Dean more annoyed. “You know what time he woke up? Five. Five o’clock in the morning. Why? He wanted to go swimming. He went swimming for an hour, came back and then started on yoga. Fucking,  _ yoga! _ ”

“Yoga’s good for you, Dean,” Sam says and if the next words out of his mouth are, ‘ _ you should try it, _ ’ Dean is going to personally compromise the mission so that he can head back and smack his brother upside the head. “What’s he doing now? I’ve got eyes on him in elevator three.” 

“He’s checking out one of the bugs he planted.”

There’s a brief silence as Sam taps some computer keys. “So?” he prompts. 

Dean frowns. “So, what?”

“How was your first night as a married man?” Sam teases. 

“Oh, it was great,” Dean scoffs. “He took one side, I took the other, and he kept me up all night with his snoring.” 

Actually, it had been the excruciating awkwardness that had kept Dean up, but it hadn’t been all night. The bed was large enough that they were in no danger of accidentally touching each other as they got comfortable. It wasn’t so large that Dean couldn’t feel the heat radiating off Cas. It had been nice. Comforting. 

Cas had fallen asleep first. He hadn’t snored. Dean had stayed up a while longer, his eyes fixed on a shadowy part of the ceiling, illuminated only by the dim glow of one of their laptops. Michael hadn’t arrived yet, so there was no reason for them both not to sleep while they could. Ultimately, Dean had fallen asleep, lulled there by Cas’ steady and rhythmic breathing. 

“What the hell kind of question is that, anyway?” Dean snaps. It’s hardly the first time he’s had to pretend to be married for a case. It’s not even the first time he’s pretended to be married for one of Sam’s cases and Sam hasn’t teased him like this before. 

“You guys just looked like you were having a good time at check-in,” Sam says and Dean can hear his stupid grin in his stupid tone. 

“Seriously, Sam? Seriously?”

From beyond the bathroom door, Dean hears Cas come back. 

“I’m getting back to work. Will you be on for next check-in?” 

“No,” Sam says a little too brightly, in Dean’s opinion. “Bobby is.” 

“Bobby?” Dean asks, not even trying to hide his surprise. “Bobby’s doing surveillance?” 

He can practically hear Sam shrugging. “I mean, this is Michael we’re talking about. Also, I think he wants to make sure you two don’t kill each other.” 

There’s a quiet knock on the door. “Dean? We have a lunch reservation in ten minutes.” 

“Alright,” Dean says, though he’s saying it more to himself than either Cas or Sam. “See ya, Sam.” He hears Sam saying bye as he cuts the call. He doesn’t strictly have to phone to check-in, but when Sam’s running the mission, Dean always makes it a point to. 

He steps out of the bathroom to find Cas waiting with a freshly laundered suit. “Check-in?” he asks. Dean nods and as he doesn’t volunteer anything else, Cas doesn’t ask anything more. “I picked up your suit on my way up.” 

Cas has already changed. The tuxedo is a bit much for lunch but they’re going into the poker room afterwards. As a player, Dean can dress down a little, but he still wants to look the part. He takes the dinner jacket from Cas and makes a mental note to wear a tie to lunch. He doesn’t want Cas to look out of place and he can always take it off at the table. 

“Thanks,  _ sweetie _ ,” Dean says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Cas ignores him but Dean sees the way his jaw tightens. It’s a barely-there clench of his teeth, but Dean notices everything. It’s  _ his job _ to notice everything.

“You gonna leave so I can change or are you gonna stand there all day and watch?” 

Cas gives up any pretence of hiding his expression and scowls. He stalks across the room to one of the open laptops and checks something on the screen even though Dean knows he probably doesn’t need to. 

Dean dresses quickly, checking himself in the mirror as he remembers to grab a tie. He looks good. He looks  _ great _ . He looks every inch the professional poker player he is pretending to be. Cas waits at the door looking pretty good himself but Dean isn’t about to tell him that. 

“Shall we, Feathers?” Dean asks, shooting Cas his most winning smile. 

Cas moves to open the door for him, holding his arm out with exaggerated deference. “After you, Freckles.” 

Dean shoots him a look but doesn’t get the chance to say anything before the door is open and Cas is once more the attentive husband. He makes a show of brushing imaginary creases from Dean’s shoulders as they step into the hallway, pulling the door behind them. There isn’t anyone else out there but that doesn’t mean they’re going to let their cover slip. 

There’s a reason they’re both the best, even if Dean admits it only grudgingly of Cas. He can’t help but notice it though. He sees it in the way Cas manages to look everywhere as they walk to the elevator even though his eyes never appear to leave Dean. It should be comforting that Dean has one of the best as his partner. Instead, it’s just frustrating. 

The resort’s restaurant is full of people overdressed for lunch. Cas and Dean are led to their table which Cas must have reserved in advance because Dean finds himself with a perfect view of the restaurant and everyone in it. 

Most of the patrons are undoubtedly eating before the tournament. He’s already gone over the table plans and the profiles Sam had put together on everyone Dean will be playing with so he recognises a handful of the faces. Naturally, he recognises Michael’s associates. Uriel, the specialist, whatever  _ that _ means. Bartholomew and Muriel. Zachariah is nowhere to be seen but then this is his game so he’s probably overseeing the set up. 

Dean looks at the menu but his eyes rake the room, taking in the several suited staff holding themselves more rigidly than any waiter would. 

“How many?” Cas asks softly, without looking up from his own menu.

“Five,” Dean replies. 

The waiter approaches them and Dean realises he hasn’t actually looked at the menu. It doesn’t really matter. He’s already checked out the place beforehand and apparently, they do a good burger. 

“We’ll have two burgers,” Castiel says without missing a beat. “And two cokes, please.” 

The waiter takes the menus and disappears with a polite smile. 

It's entirely practical and there's nobody near them who might overhear them, but Cas says it with a wry smile. The way a husband might. 

Dean smiles back. 

“So,” Cas says, his back to the room, but knowing Dean can see over his shoulder at everything. “How is Christmas looking?” 

“No sign of Dad yet,” Dean sighs as though he’s disappointed. But if Michael had shown up then they’d have known about it before they sat down given how thoroughly Cas has bugged the place. His eyes rest on Bartholomew and Muriel who are deep in conversation over a ledger. Three of the four guards in the room are watching over them, making sure they aren’t interrupted. 

“Apparently, my cousins have started spending a lot of time together. I didn’t even know they were friends.” 

Cas idly plays with a standing flyer on the table advertising a special offer on desserts and coffee. “I don’t think they are, but your brother thinks they might be going into business together.”

“Does Dad know?” Dean asks.

Cas gives a small shrug. “I don’t think anything happens in the family that Dad doesn’t know about.” 

The waiter returns with their drinks and Dean watches Muriel and Bartholomew. They want to arrest Bartholomew more than Muriel, but she’s got her hands on the ledger and Dean would bet his buy-in that if Bartholomew goes down, that ledger will disappear. 

“She’s in charge of the presents this year,” Dean says and he sees Cas file it away in the back of his mind. Cas is better at the sneaking and infiltrating side of their job. Dean’s better at the mingling and getting information. The parts that involve being a human being. 

“Has anyone heard from your creepy uncle?” Cas asks, his lips playing on a smile. It’s all code of course. Dean’s only family are Sam and Bobby, and while Cas has a veritable army of siblings, Dean knows they won’t be spending Christmas together. It makes basing their code on family easy to remember at least. There’s no chance of confusing their targets with actual cousins wanting a big family Christmas. 

Still, why did Dean have to end up with Zachariah? The guy basically personifies the ‘creepy uncle’ even though Dean and Cas both know for a fact he doesn’t have any nieces or nephews. 

Dean grimaces. “Well, it was his idea to host this year. He’s probably still setting it all up.” He raises his glass to his lips and pauses to sniff it. He can’t smell anything unusual and Cas is watching the way the sunlight catches the glass but obviously doesn’t see anything untoward, so Dean takes a sip. 

“Are you nervous?” Cas asks. It takes Dean a moment to realise he’s referring to the poker game. 

Dean shrugs. “No.” He’s not playing it up, he really isn’t. He’s only invested enough to pay off his buy-in to save Bobby a headache later on, and to keep Zachariah in his sights. A two million dollar pot would be nice to take home but he’s expecting to have most of the players in cuffs by the final round. 

“You’re going to win,” Cas says with a certainty that takes Dean by surprise. 

“You think?” 

“You’re the best,” Cas says with such sincerity, Dean can’t tell if he’s playing up to their cover or just trying to be reassuring. 

He doesn’t get the chance to figure it out. Their burgers arrive and their conversation stalls while Dean keeps his eyes on the room and Cas makes notes of Dean’s observations on his phone. 


	4. Chapter 4

As expected, when lunch finishes, most of the patrons file into the room that has been set aside for the poker tournament. It’s cliche but then this wouldn’t be the first poker game Dean has had to infiltrate, and all stereotypes have to start somewhere. 

“Will you be alright?” Dean asks Cas, drawing him a little closer. 

Cas rolls his eyes. “No. I simply will not be able to cope without your company for an evening. I’ll just have to entertain myself talking with all these people.” He gestures to the gathering of wives, husbands, guests and guards who think they’re far more inconspicuous than they are. “While my husband does what he does best.” Cas cocks his head to the side and something dark settles behind his eyes. “Well,” he smirks. “ _ Second _ best.” 

The guy might be inhuman but he’s a damn good actor, Dean thinks as blood thunders in his ears. He is saved by a call from the other side of the room. “Players take your seats, please.” 

At this point, Dean should say something smooth but he’s still reeling from how well Cas is playing his part to think of anything appropriately witty. 

“Dean,” Cas calls, as Dean turns to join the players filing towards the tables. 

Dean turns back, and then Cas’ hands are on his face, pulling him in for a fierce kiss. Dean’s hands find Cas’ hips but it’s all he can do to hold on as Cas takes his lips apart. Cas’ tongue finds his and it’s all Dean can do to stop himself moaning into it. When Cas draws apart, they’re both breathless. 

“For luck,” Cas says, his voice unfairly level. 

Dean shoots him a winning smile, unwilling to betray himself by speaking right now and makes for his table, pretending that his legs aren’t a little weaker than he’d like. 

Castiel is a  _ really _ good actor. 

Dean doesn’t dwell on it. The kiss, the look in Cas’ eyes, the rough scrape of his voice, the way he looks in a tuxedo... All of it goes into a neat little box and Dean turns his focus to the chair before him and the table. He loosens his tie and tells himself it’s because he always intended to take it off at this point. 

There are five tables centred around a larger, empty table that will seat the final game. A velvet rope, the most sacred of barriers, blocks the tables from the bar area ensuring that the spectators can do no more than that. When the last player steps through it, a suited security officer hooks the rope and folds his arms. He stands at odds with the relaxed, festive spirit that fills the room, undercut only by the slightest edge of tension that exists wherever there is money to be won. 

Dean’s table is a mixture of professionals, particularly wealthy resort guests, and of course, Michael’s guests. Either Cas or Sam specifically altered the seating plan so that Dean would be placed opposite Zachariah. Dean sees him talking with Uriel and several of his underlings. The mission is a marathon, not a sprint, so Dean doesn’t try to listen in and instead shakes the hands of the players that share his table. 

They are allowed a few minutes to introduce themselves, even though Dean has already read up on his opponents, extensively. Two professionals, a European champion, Zachariah, and one of Zachariah’s employees that Dean is convinced will fold to his boss before the blinds are upped. 

The compere clears his throat and seats are taken. Zachariah pauses to take Dean’s hand before he sits and Dean gives it a firm but forgettable shake, choosing instead to make himself comfortable and count his chips. He picks up two chips and rolls them between his fingers in a gesture purely to maintain his cover, while his eyes scan the crowd to find Cas. 

He spots him easily, picking out his bright, blue eyes even from the other side of the room. Cas has placed himself with a small group and is laughing along with what one of them has said. Dean vaguely wonders if the guy likes poker. He didn’t ask and it’s going to be a long night. 

The compere calls attention to himself and the room goes quiet to listen to the rules. Dean pays only half attention, he’s heard it all before anyway. He takes note of where his targets are sitting and clocks their bodyguards standing beyond the rope and making a poor show of blending in. But then, intimidation is half their game. 

There is a round of polite applause which suggests that the compere has finished speaking. The dealer for Dean’s table introduces herself to the players with a professional smile erring on the side of friendly and breaks open a new set of cards. The deck is shuffled, blinds are posted and Dean shuts out any thought of Michael and the mission. Right now, his only task is to survive the game. For everything else, he can rely on Cas. 

Dean plays conservatively for the first few hands, assessing everyone at the table. Zachariah tries to bully everyone else before the flop which doesn’t surprise Dean at all. He isn’t a strong player but Dean knows he’ll make it to the winners table. It is his tournament after all and the guy seems more interested in talking than playing. Zachariah brags about everything, even when he doesn’t have much to brag about. 

Dean files it all away, keeping his head down and not drawing attention to himself. He doesn’t bet big, he doesn’t lose big either and steadily his pile of chips grows but not so much that anyone notices. 

As expected, Zachariah’s obvious plant loses all his chips to his boss in the first few rounds. 

Dean is so focused on the game, he is surprised to be interrupted by a barman placing a drink beside him. 

“From your husband, sir,” the barman tells him quietly, slipping away with only minimal interruption. 

Dean looks at the drink and can’t help but smile. His eyes find Cas, attached to a totally new group of spectators and Cas raises his own glass in a silent toast. He’s drinking the same as Dean. A martini by the looks of it, with a swirl of lemon peel sitting in the glass instead of olives. It’s the oldest joke in the book and Dean salutes it, raising his glass to his husband and taking a small sip. 

It’s only water. 

Dean keeps his face deliberately neutral, but even from across the floor he can see Cas’ eyes laughing at him. Personally, Dean prefers coke, ice and lemon served in a tumbler to make it look like he’s on the harder stuff. He should have known Cas would go with water. 

_ Water _ . 

Cas sends him two more water martinis over the course of the game.

“You’re doing well,” Cas says approvingly when Dean finds him during the break. 

“Not as well as Zachariah,” Dean grumbles. He doesn’t know how he’s cheating but the guy has seen off two of the professionals at the table in record time. Behind the rope, the tables are rearranged to account for fewer players, something Dean didn’t expect until the second night at least. 

Cas’ hand rests comfortingly on Dean’s shoulder and he leans in to kiss his cheek. “You’re doing just fine,” he soothes, the way a husband might. “Remember the Grand Prix at Monaco? You had a much worse start and you still finished in the top three.” 

Dean deliberately conceals his surprise, instead resting his head on Cas’ shoulder as he stretches out the pain of sitting in one seat for too long. Of course,  _ he _ remembers Monaco. His mission had come very close to an abrupt end when he’d made a few bad calls for the first hands. Dean remembers, but he’s surprised Cas knows of it. 

“Havin’ fun?” Dean asks, pulling back to smile at his ‘husband’.

“You know I am,” Cas says, as though it is the highlight of his year to watch Dean play poker. “I’ve met some very interesting people.” He gestures to the room behind him with his own martini. Dean might not be able to tell by sight that it’s only water but he wouldn’t be surprised. Alcohol would probably interfere with the hardware. That said, Cas certainly looks the part. It’s almost jarring how well he can blend in when his people skills are, by his own admission, ‘rusty’. 

“Anyone you think you could be friends with?” Dean asks, his eyes sweeping the room as though he could identify anyone worth tailing from such a perfunctory glance. 

“No, but many of them make for interesting conversation.” 

A bell chimes once somewhere in the room, calling the players back to their seats. Cas pulls Dean back in for a kiss, far softer than the one he’d bestowed earlier. This time, Dean’s ready for it and kisses him back. 

“I might get to the room before you,” Cas says, suggestively, covering for the fact that he might be gone by the time Dean finishes this round. 

“Okay,” Dean replies, kissing him lightly again. There really is no reason for him to worry. Cas is good at his job, he doesn’t need Dean with him for every part of it. Still, they’ve never tried to take on Michael so directly before. Even though Michael isn’t there yet, Dean still doesn’t like the idea of Cas wandering around the resort on his own. 

The game resumes and even though the tables have been adjusted, Dean is still opposite Zachariah. This time he has an excellent view of Uriel too, who seems to be playing with a great deal more skill than his boss. 

The blinds are upped and with higher stakes, Dean can drop the conservative front. He isn’t going to be caught out by Zachariah. Dean isn’t sure how he’s cheating, but he’ll figure it out. The dealer opens a new pack of cards, shuffles them and play resumes. 


	5. Chapter 5

By the time the game starts drawing to an end, for the first night at least, Dean has amassed an impressive stack of chips but not so impressive as to draw attention. He still has considerably less than Zachariah and even though they’ve been sat opposite each other, Zachariah hasn’t paid Dean any more attention than he has the other players. Dean has been careful not to call him directly. 

Dean reaches for a drink of his ‘martini’ but finds it empty. Half a frown crosses his face as he looks up. Cas has kept him watered and fed throughout the game, having Dean’s drinks replaced before Dean had noticed he’d finished it. His eyes sweep the bar but he doesn’t find Cas. 

There’s no chance of him missing him. Cas knows to stand where Dean can see him. If Dean can’t find him, then Cas isn’t here. Which is exactly what he said would happen and Dean knows that he shouldn’t go after him. He doesn’t even know where Cas has gone and whatever it is, Cas is more than capable of handling it himself. There is absolutely no reason why Dean should even think about it. 

“Deal me out,” he tells the dealer. Nobody even looks up. The game is ending soon and Dean is already assured of a place in the next round. A handful of spectators congratulate him as he passes, but Dean doesn’t stop to talk to any of them. Instead, he makes for the bathroom. If anyone is watching him, it’s the most reasonable excuse for him to leave the table early. 

A quick glance at his phone shows that Cas is still in the resort. He’s only a few floors away. Dean makes a note of the room and heads out of the bathroom for an elevator. 

Cas is in one of the resort's conference rooms. Dean is relieved to find that he's alone. Cas on the other hand looks like he could murder Dean there and then for disturbing him doing whatever he's doing. Right now, he's underneath the large table that takes up most of the room. 

"What are you doing here?" Cas hisses. The room must be safe. 

"I'm not the one underneath a table in an empty conference room," Dean points out. 

Cas scowls but he doesn't take his eyes off what he's doing. Dean watches him screw a small device into the table and brush away the dust it kicks up. Cas brushes his hand over it to make sure it won't be found. 

"Michael has personally booked this conference room for a meeting he's holding when he arrives," Cas tells him as he shuffles across the floor and starts setting another device. 

"It's taken you this long to bug one room?" Dean asks. He doesn't mean for it to sound as much like an accusation as it does. 

He can't tell if Cas takes it as an insult or not. His response is smooth and matter of fact. "I bugged the other two conference rooms on the floor. Just in case he changes his mind." 

"Good idea," Dean concedes. Cas' determined expression softens a little and he reaches for Dean's hand. Dean helps pull him out from under the table and Cas brushes himself down. His tuxedo is creased and wrinkled from his numerous dives under conference tables. He wouldn't be able to have gone back to the bar looking like this. 

Cas checks his phone and gives a hum of approval. He's about to slip his phone back into his pocket but frowns. "We've got movement in the hallway," he says, gesturing beyond the door. 

"One of Michael's goons?" Dean asks but there's no way Cas knows for sure. It doesn't matter, either way, they'll treat it as such. 

There's no way for them to leave the conference room without drawing attention to themselves. Cas catches Dean's eye and it's clear he's had the same thought on how they're getting out of here. 

"Ready?" Dean asks. 

Cas nods and Dean surges forward. Their lips clash as they stumble through the doors into the hallway. Cas hits the wall first and Dean presses himself against him, kissing Cas for all he's worth. 

The barely part for breath. Cas' fingers curl around the nape of Dean’s neck, drawing him closer and Cas must be a  _ really _ good actor because the sounds he makes are incredible. 

The sound of someone awkwardly clearing his throat doesn't distract them. Cas pulls Dean towards the elevator, their lips refusing to part. Dean jabs at the wall, taking several attempts to actually call the elevator. It's hard to judge with Cas' tongue in his mouth, their bodies flush against each other but somehow Dean manages it. 

The elevator doors open and Dean and Cas fall into it. This time Cas pins Dean to the wall, breaking apart for just long enough to hit the button for their floor. He presses his hands to Dean's chest, pushing him harshly against the wall before Cas kisses him again. 

Dean tries very, very hard to figure out if the potential guard followed them but it's hard to think of anything with Cas taking him apart. Cas forces Dean's legs apart and Dean sucks in a breath. 

If Cas steps any closer, he'll notice how hard Dean is. How can he not be? With Cas sounding the way he does, his lips are like sin, branding Dean wherever they land. Cas presses against him, slotting their bodies together and-

Cas is just as hard as he is. Dean can feel the thick line of Cas' cock against his thigh and he moans. Purely because he knows there's a camera in the elevator and they can't afford to drop their cover, of course. Nothing else.

Cas pulls back just a little but Dean follows, chasing his lips with his own. He's never been so hard just from kissing before. He doesn't want to stop. 

The elevator dings and they stumble into the hallway. Dean slips his hands under Cas' jacket. He can't be mad for the five am wake up call anymore because his fingers can trace the defined muscles of Cas' chest for it. 

Dean finds the key card and they fall through the door, kicking it shut behind them. They separate the very moment the door clicks, thrown apart as though they hadn't been tearing at each other's clothes just seconds before. 

Cas straightens up, sliding his jacket off in a way that Dean can't help but find sexy. Who can blame him when his blood is still thundering South? 

"Drink?" Cas offers. There is no sign of the man who moaned into Dean's ear. If his hair weren't sticking out at all angles from where Dean's fingers had raked through it, if Dean's lips weren't still tingling from the force of which they'd clashed then there'd be no indication they'd done anything together at all. 

Dean breathes in an attempt to centre himself. It was never going to go any further. Does Dean even want it to go any further? 

Even if he did, even if on the wild chance that he'd be willing to start something with a guy he didn't even like all that much, it certainly wouldn't be during the biggest job of their careers. 

"Sure," Dean says. He takes his own jacket off and loosens the buttons at his collar. The air between them settles into something professional. There's something simmering just under the surface but Dean knows that will fade with his erection. Cas clearly isn't affected by it, busying himself at the minifridge. 

When he presents Dean with a drink, Dean can't help but scoff. A 'martini' complete with the swirl of lemon peel. He has to give it to the guy, Cas has a sense of humour after all. It leaves a lot to be desired, but it's there. 

Rolling his eyes, Dean swallows the drink in a single gulp, immediately regretting it when he realises that it isn't water at all. His throat burns in protest and Cas' eyes widen. 

" _ Dean _ -" he starts but he doesn't get much further before Dean starts coughing. 

The minibar stocks alcohol of excellent quality. 

It takes Dean a minute to stop coughing, but his throat burns for a while longer. 

"I thought it was water," Dean mumbles as he hands back the glass, empty except for the strip of lemon, to a still wide-eyed Cas. 

"You played well. I thought you deserved a real one," Cas says quietly. He's still holding the glass as though he doesn't quite know what to do with it. 

"I'm surprised you noticed." It sounds more barbed than Dean intends, but then Dean is just hoping to deflect from the martini. 

Cas scoffs, the barb bringing back to the ground they’re used to. “I am capable of watching you and working a room, Dean.” 

“Watching me?” Dean asks, flexing his shoulders just for the show of it. “Like what you see?” 

He shouldn’t be baiting Cas. He actually has a lot of questions about what Cas learned. He needs to be brought up to speed and find out who Cas talked to, what their connections are, why Zachariah is hosting a poker tournament when the guy clearly doesn’t care for the game. But he can’t help it. There’s something about the guy that always manages to get under his skin, rile him up. 

“It’s been a long night,” Cas grinds out, refusing to be drawn. “We should get some rest.” He glances at his watch and makes a decision. “I’ll write my report in the morning. I’ve kept thorough notes. I won’t forget anything,” he adds, catching Dean looking at him. 

Dean assumed as much and wasn’t going to say anything about it. He was only looking at the guy because he was talking. 

Talking and unbuttoning his shirt. 

It’s kind of funny to think that just a short while ago, Dean had been ready to drop to his knees in an elevator for Cas. Now, the robot is back and it’s almost enough to douse the smouldering tension between the two. 

Almost. 

“Is there anything you want me to include in the report?” Cas asks, as formal as ever even as he slips his shirt off and balls it into the laundry. 

Dean shakes his head. He’ll make his own report. It won’t be as thorough as Cas’ but then he’s only going to be recording observations he made during the game. 

“Did I send over drinks at appropriate intervals?” 

It’s late. Dean is tired. He’s gone from making out with Cas, to fighting him and his throat still burns from the cocktail.

“Dude, this isn’t an appraisal,” he snaps. 

He starts unbuttoning his own shirt and even though he turns his back to Cas, he can feel those blue eyes burning into him. 

“I’m just asking if I’m doing my job correctly. If you need more water-”

“Why water, Cas? Would it kill you to send over something a little stronger?” 

He can feel Cas frowning. “You’re still on duty, even if all you’re doing is playing a game.” 

Dean rounds on him. “I didn’t mean-” he starts. He just meant a soda or something but that goes out of his mind at Cas’ accusation. “Playing a game? Seriously?!”

“A game with two million dollars at stake is still a game.” 

"If it's so easy why don't you do it?" Dean shouldn't lose his cool. He knows he shouldn't. It doesn't stop him. 

"Someone has to do the actual work," Cas snipes back, squaring up to Dean in kind. 

Dean is an excellent secret agent, highly trained in observation as well as tactics and multiple forms of fighting.

He doesn't know which of them moves first. He doesn't know how it happens but he's fairly sure he's ready to throw a punch but instead finds himself on his back, on the bed, while Cas straddles his hips and ravishes his lips. 

Bucking his hips, Dean takes control of the movement, pinning Cas beneath him instead. This is the part where he backs off, where he demands what the hell Cas thinks he's doing, what  _ Dean _ thinks he's doing. Instead,he closes the distance between them, his lips finding Cas' neck, determined to draw out the moans he'd heard earlier. 

It's Dean who moans first. Cas' fingers curl against his hair and he can't not. It doesn't feel like much of a loss in this constant game of one-upping the other when it feels so good. 

Cas rises with Dean when he pulls back to remove his shirt completely. He doesn't want to let Dean move too far away and the moment Dean's shirt is cast aside, Cas' arms are at his back, drawing him back. 

Dean kisses him as though Cas is the air he needs to breathe. Cas' lips part and he moans against Dean's tongue. It feels like a victory. Dean lets Cas roll them again, this time they fall to the floor, taking most of the bedcovers with them. 

Dean lets out a grunt as the wind is knocked from him, but he doesn't get a chance to recover before Cas is right there, stealing the breath from him again. Cas' bare skin feels divine against Dean's but it isn't enough. Cas seems to have the same idea as his fingers move to the waistband of Dean's dress pants. They go the same way as his shirt.

So do their boxers. 

It's messy, rough, and undeniably angry but both of them throw their heads back when Cas slides their cocks together for the first time. Dean looks up at him from the floor. Cas' eyes are hazy, unfocused but they can still pin Dean with their intensity. 

Dean reaches between them, taking both of them in hand as they rut against each other. Cas comes first, painting Dean's stomach with his release. He bites his lip, his chest heaving as Dean follows him over the edge. 

Dean comes with Cas' name lodged somewhere in his throat, with Cas' teeth sinking into his shoulder. 

It isn’t enough.

It isn’t nearly enough. 

The tension between them that feels like it’s existed for far longer than some heated exchanges in the elevator hasn’t snapped in the slightest. It smoulders on the air and Dean can feel it burning him even as the two of them pant try and regain their breath. 

Cas pushes himself up, his face still far too close to Dean’s. Dean can feel Cas’ breath on his lips and he surges forward to steal it. Pulling Cas underneath him, ignoring the mess they’ve already made. Cas goes willingly, wrapping a leg around Dean’s hips, drawing him in, silently begging for round two. 


	6. Chapter 6

Dean wakes slowly. He knows he has to but he’s warm, comfortable and his body feels too heavy to even think about moving, sated in the best way. There’s an arm slung possessively across his chest and warm breath on the back of his neck. The arm shifts and Dean tries to lean back into it, a soft grunt brings him back to reality and Dean freezes. 

Cas.

_ Cas _ .

Dean’s eyes fly open and it’s worse than he thought. 

They never made it onto the bed. They’re still lying on the floor, tangled as much in each other as they are in the sheets. 

Dean can pinpoint the very moment Cas wakes completely. There’s a satisfied moan near his ear and Cas nuzzles his shoulder. Half a second later, Cas pulls back so quickly and harshly Dean almost shivers from the sudden blast of cold air. The arm is pulled off him and there’s a brief pause while Cas surveys the state of them. 

“Oh,” Cas mumbles, trying to disentangle himself from Dean. Dean takes his legs back from under Cas and his body protests the movement, wanting to sink back into the bliss he’d woken in. Cas rises to his feet, taking one of the bedsheets with him and wrapping it around his waist. 

Dean looks up at him but Cas avoids his eye. Dean pulls the remaining covers tighter around him, even though there isn’t a part of Dean Cas hasn’t seen. Or touched. Or kissed. Cas heads straight for the bathroom, leaving Dean to tidy himself up. 

The floor is a mess.  _ Dean _ is a mess. The room stinks of sex and the first thing he does is open a window. He picks up the sheets and drops them on the bed. Dean picks up the bottle of lube and places it on the nightstand. It feels too conspicuous so he slides it into the drawer, out of sight. 

The room looks almost normal, save for the occasional discarded condom on the floor, but Cas can deal with those. Dean sits on the edge of the bed and runs a hand through his hair. He’s never done anything like that before. Or at least, he’s never managed more than two orgasms in one night. 

It had been amazing. The air feels heavy with a different kind of tension that had snapped the night before but it had still been amazing. 

Cas emerges from the bathroom, freshly showered and wrapped in towels. 

“Shower’s free,” he mutters unnecessarily as he passes Dean for the closet.

Dean can’t remember a more awkward moment. His fist tightens around the sheet he’s wrapped around his waist, even though there is no chance of it falling and he ducks into the bathroom, letting the door close loudly behind him. He lets the bedsheet fall to the floor and turns the shower on before he can lose himself in his thoughts. He doesn’t want to think too hard right now. Not about Cas. Not about the best sex of his life with Cas. Not about any of it. 

Instead, he turns the water to the very limit of what he would consider comfortably hot and steps into the spray, cleaning himself off methodically. He opens the bottle of complimentary shower gel and immediately regrets it. He should have brought his own in with him. This is the one Cas used. Dean had caught the scent of it on the air when he’d emerged and now Dean will spend the day smelling like Cas. 

He isn’t thinking about Cas. 

He forces his thoughts to what he has to do today. Check-in, the report, go over anything their bugs picked up in the night, review, and poker later in the day. If he thinks about Cas in a purely professional capacity, maybe it’ll distract him from why exactly his shower is taking far longer than it would normally. 

_ They really had made an impressive mess of each other _ , Dean thinks with a smirk he can’t prevent. He steps out of the shower and dries off. In the room, Cas is already dressed, waiting by the coffee maker. The condoms have been thrown in the trash and the only sign that anything happened the night before are the sheets piled at the end of the bed and the strained silence between them. 

Cas turns, coffee in hand and almost steps into Dean. They do an awkward half shuffle around each other where Dean manages to place himself exactly where Cas means to go. 

“Excuse me,” Cas mutters, stepping around him. A glance at the coffee maker shows that Cas had only brewed one cup for himself. Dean tries not to sigh as he taps the button to make another as he passes, looking for clothes. 

There’s another awkward moment when he has his suit laid out but Cas is in the room and Dean is still covered up with the towels. He could change right here. This is his room too. Cas has seen everything of Dean. It’s not like he’d be shocked by anything. Besides, his eyes are fixed on the laptop screen as he sips his coffee. Dean can’t tell if Cas is ignoring him or if he really is just intent on his work. Either way, Dean chooses to change in the bathroom. 

When he emerges, his coffee is ready but Cas doesn’t look at him as he takes the seat beside him. Dean shuffles the chair a little, trying to put space between them even though they’re hardly close. 

“No sign of Michael,” Cas says, his eyes never leaving his screen. “Check the audio on the hallways?” He asks it as a question but it sounds like an order. For once, Dean doesn’t argue. He pulls up the relevant screens, attaches some headphones and buries himself in work. 

“Alright, but you’re getting breakfast,” Dean tells him. He looks at the sheer number of audio logs he has to listen to and groans. “And, we’re gonna need more coffee.” 

Cas looks over at the screen and winces. His own isn’t much better but he’s on visual which means he can fast forward the boring parts. Dean will have to listen to the entire conversations just in case they’re coded or something is dropped at random. 

“I’ll get breakfast,” Cas sighs.

Four cups of coffee later and Dean still hasn’t found anything of interest. The table is littered with the packaging of the breakfast pastries Cas brought up from the resort’s restaurant and Dean idly picks at a few crumbs. 

“Anything?” 

Cas shakes his head, his expression grim and his neck clicking from the motion, even though he at least got up once to check-in.

“It’s weird though, right?” Dean asks, apropos of nothing. “Zachariah hosting a high stakes poker game and cheating even though it’s clearly not his thing.” 

“He doesn’t need the money,” Cas says, clicking through to Zachariah’s last known accounts. “Even if he did, he has easier ways of making it than a poker game.” 

Cas shakes his head, as though it might clear his thoughts. “I’ll take the suits down for the laundry.”

He picks up the suits they wore the day before. Dean watches with amusement as Cas struggles to locate where his shirt landed. He finds it under the bed, somehow and folds it into the fancy dry cleaning bag the hotel supplied. 

Cas scowls and slips through the door, pulling it harshly behind him. 

Dean chuckles and reaches for his coffee, grimacing when he finds it’s empty. Before he can make a new cup, his phone buzzes beside him. He frowns when he sees Sam’s name pop up. Cas has already checked in and hadn’t mentioned anything about Sam looking at something they’d missed. 

“You got something?” Dean asks, in lieu of a ‘hello’. 

“Just checking in,” Sam says. He sounds smug. 

“Cas already checked in, didn’t he?” 

“He did. I’m checking in with  _ you _ .”

Dean frowns, mindlessly clicking off the screens he’d been studying. “Why?” 

“That was some make-out session you guys had,” Sam teases. Dean can practically  _ see _ his brother’s dumbass grin. 

“Sammy, I’m working,” Dean deadpans. 

“Oh, is that what you call it?” Sam asks. 

“Wasn’t it  _ your _ idea to check us in as husbands?” 

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you guys would lean so hard into the role.”

“ _ Ha. Ha. _ ” Dean grumbles.

“No, I’m serious! You guys were all over each other.  _ Literally _ .” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “If there’s nothing else, I’m gonna get back to work.” 

“Enjoy,” Sam says, hanging up before Dean can cut him off. 

“Problem?” Cas asks, making Dean jump at the table. He didn’t hear him come in but he couldn’t have been there long. 

“Just Sam wanting to know how we enjoyed our romp in the elevator yesterday.” 

Cas nods thoughtfully. “I’m glad I had Bobby on check-in.” 

It’s probably the first time Cas has intentionally made Dean laugh. It’s nice to laugh with each other instead of baiting. 

Dean double-checks the screen, but unsurprisingly no new information has appeared. He shuts the laptop a little harsher than he intends, but he’s been sitting here for hours. 

“Alright. I’m taking a break,” Dean announces. “C’mon. Grab your towel, we’re going down to the pool.” 

“We still have work,” Cas frowns, but Dean doesn’t let him finish. 

“Yeah, we’ve been staring at these things all morning and all we know is Zachariah can’t play poker. It’s all any of the guys are talking about, they don’t know why he’s hosting the game either and that’s nothing we didn’t already know. We need a break.” 

“I did forgo my morning swim,” Cas admits and Dean bites down a groan of frustration. 

“This isn’t exercise, Cas. C’mon, we’re husbands on vacation. We’re going to sit by the goddamn pool, drink goddamn cocktails, and look like we’re having a good goddamn time.”

“We can’t drink, Dean. We’re working.” 

Dean clenches his jaw but doesn’t correct him. Of course, they can’t drink. They’ll drink mocktails or employ any one of the tactics they’ve been trained to utilise to disguise how they never seem to touch alcohol in appropriate situations. But Cas knows that and Dean won’t be baited. 

He walks past Cas and grabs a towel from the bathroom. He swears he can feel Cas smirking at him, but he keeps his face neutral. He won’t give him the satisfaction. He practically throws the towel at Cas before heading for his case, looking for his shorts. Cas has already unpacked his swimming trunks into the drawers and Dean can hear him changing while his back is turned. 

Dean’s fingers pause over his shorts. Does he turn around? It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. Nothing he wouldn’t like to see again. But it would be weird to watch Cas change, right? But then, Cas is changing in the room so he’d surely expect Dean to catch a glimpse of something? 

It takes Dean so long to figure out whether he can get away with looking or not, that when he does finally turn around, Cas has already changed and Dean has made a serious miscalculation. 

Cas looks at him expectantly, one brow quirked impatiently. “Well?” 

Dean tries not to let his jaw drop but he hadn’t factored into his plan that Cas would be wearing swimming trunks.  _ Only _ swimming trunks. Cas’ bare chest is on display and Dean swears he can see a mark made by his own teeth the night before, which is doing nothing to help the overall effect. The trunks show off the best of Cas’ legs. The guy must run or something to keep them so well defined and Dean knows from first-hand experience the strength in them. 

That is to say nothing of Cas’ hip bones, with their enticing ‘v’ shape inviting Dean to kiss them. Dean very much wants to kiss them. 

Cas is still looking at him, waiting for Dean to change himself. Or move. Or do  _ something _ . 

Dean clears his throat. “Bathroom,” he says, taking his shorts with him. 

He can feel Cas’ eyes on him until the door closes behind him. Dean drops the shorts on the floor and palms himself roughly through his pants. If he’s going to be around Cas looking like that, looking like that  _ in the water _ , then he needs to take care of himself or it’s going to be a really uncomfortable afternoon. 

He strips off his clothes, throwing them near the door but he isn’t concerned about being tidy right now. There’s a bottle of fancy hand soap next to the sink, it isn’t perfect but it’ll do. He braces himself against the bathroom counter, pumping liquid soap into his hand before taking his cock in hand. 

He bites down the immediate groan that rises within him and he probably should have run the faucet. Too late now, he’s already close in record time, spurred on by thoughts of Cas, bare-chested and gorgeous in the pool, memories of the night before and a vague fantasy that combines the two. 

Dean’s body locks up as he comes, spilling onto the counter to an image of a thoroughly drenched Cas, leaning out of the pool for a gloriously messy kiss. He tries not to gasp down a breath that Cas will definitely hear, but he wasn’t expecting to come that hard. So much of his time with Cas isn’t what he expects. 

He takes a moment to steady his breathing. To let the stars subside from his vision. To make sure that when he stands, he can do so without his legs shaking. He cleans up the mess he’s made on the counter quickly but not so quickly he’s likely to miss a spot. Then he just has to throw his shorts on and head out, pretending that he just took a little longer than usual to get changed. 

Cas is waiting for him, arms folded as Dean knew he would be. There’s a barb waiting on his tongue. Dean can see it but it fades into a frown as Cas takes in what he’s wearing. 

“You can’t swim in those. Do you not have a suit?” 

Dean glances down even though he knows exactly what he’s wearing. “I’m not swimming.” He shoots Cas his most flirtatious look which is playing a little dirty given what that look did to the guy the night before. “I’m a married man and there’ll be people around. That show’s for my husband’s eyes only.” 

It takes Cas a beat to realise what he means. Dean can practically see the gears turning behind his eyes. 

“You...swim…” he starts but trails off as though he can’t quite formulate the words. He’s probably disgusted but Dean’s committed now. 

“In my birthday suit.” He winks.

“I need to rinse off before we go down,” Cas says abruptly, stepping into the bathroom and throwing the door shut behind him. Dean chuckles. He’s not surprised Castiel ‘I get up at ungodly hours to swim for exercise’ is horrified by the thought of Dean swimming nude. Besides, his quick shower allows Dean to sit down and really recover from the fourth unexpected orgasm of the mission. Or was it the fifth? He can’t even remember anymore. 

He walks the same steps around the room, not wanting to sit down. There seems little point in sitting down when he knows Cas will be out in a minute. 

Over the sound of the shower, Dean hears a grunt and he freezes. He listens carefully but there’s no mistaking what he heard. Maybe Cas will need a little more than a minute. There’s no way Dean’s lucky enough that Cas is thinking about him swimming in the nude the way Dean had been thinking of Cas just a minute ago. The thought makes Dean chuckle which quickly becomes an actual laugh. He forces his face back into neutral as Cas emerges, flushed and damp from the shower. 

Dean was one hundred percent right to have taken care of himself. 

“Ready?” he asks.

“Ready,” Cas replies, only a little breathless. 


	7. Chapter 7

It’s hard to imagine escaping to a tropical beach when garlands of holly and pine cones hang from the pool fence. The bar is dressed in tinsel and lights while Christmas songs performed on a piano drift from hidden speakers. Still, Dean will take it and he stretches out on one of the loungers. His muscles thank him as they relax, a welcome relief from sitting at the desk. 

In a move that doesn’t surprise Dean in the slightest, Cas joins him long enough to kick off his shoes and drop a towel on the lounge chair beside him. Then he’s straight into the water. There are a few others doing laps so Cas fits right in, though Dean would roll his eyes if he weren’t on show. Instead, he calls the waiter over and orders a drink for himself and the fruitiest mocktail on the menu for Cas. 

None of the big names who work with Michael are here. Dean recognises a handful of other players in the tournament scattered around the pool area, mostly kicking back with their own drinks. One of them seems to be engaged in an argument with her husband, but they’re too far away for Dean to make out anything they’re saying. It’s unlikely to be anything regarding the mission but Dean takes a note of it anyway. 

There isn’t anything else of interest happening, so Dean settles and watches Cas.

The guy really is a strong swimmer. 

He moves through the water effortlessly and with surprising speed even though the pool isn’t exactly set up for competitive swimming. After a few lengths, Cas comes to a stop at the edge of the pool and wipes the water from his face, his eyes finding Dean. He doesn’t seem surprised to find Dean already looking in his direction, and he gives him a friendly wave. 

With a smirk only Dean catches, Cas pushes himself back through the water. This time, he remains on his back but this  _ is _ his ‘husband’. Dean can afford to enjoy the show. And Cas looks damn good in the water. 

Maybe it’s just Dean’s imagination but it seems like Cas moves differently now that he’s caught Dean staring. Every movement, every flex feels intentional. He even looks like he’s slowed down a little, stretching out each motion so it lasts as long as possible. 

The drinks arrive but Dean doesn’t take his eyes off Cas. 

He’s gone from looking, to staring, to downright salivating. But, Dean isn’t about to be beaten. He stands up and lays a towel on the lounger. It’s unnecessary but it gives him an opportunity to move around and flex his own muscles. He even stretches out his neck and rolls it even though it isn’t tense. He adjusts the lounger, making sure when he lies on it Cas will have a good view of him before he settles onto it. Dean reaches for his drink, his eyes still on Cas. He licks his lips before he brings the glass to them and takes a small sip. It’s only soda but the tumbler and the ice makes it look like it’s probably something stronger. Dean places the glass back on the table. 

Cas misjudges his distance and crashes into the wall, having apparently been so distracted by Dean while making a show of not looking at him. 

When Cas returns, Dean holds out his towel. It seems like a nice gesture but really he just wants to adjust his angle to watch the husband from the arguing couple leave in a huff. It’s probably just a lover’s quarrel. Dean files it away and makes a mental note to get Cas to talk to the husband during the game. Dean can hardly have a conversation with the wife over the poker table. 

“Is this for me?” Cas asks, pointing at the drink nearest his lounger. Dean nods and Cas looks oddly touched by the gesture. “Thank you,” he says, apparently totally unfazed by the excessive amount of fruit decorating the glass. He picks a strawberry from the rim and holds it out to Dean. 

“Do you want the strawberry?” 

Normally, Dean would shy away from anything that claimed to be ‘organic’ and he knows if he takes it, Sam will see and tease him for actually eating fruit for a change. But he leans forward and takes it from Cas’ hand with his mouth. His lips close around Cas’ fingers and it’s worth a piece of fruit for the way Cas’ eyes widen in surprise and immediately darken with a look reminiscent of the night before. 

Dean sits back, not even trying to hide the triumph in his face. Cas lies down and drapes a towel over himself, sipping the drink without a hint of irony. 

“Seen anything you like?” Cas asks, casually. “Apart from me,” he adds, glancing over with a smug smile. 

“Oh yeah, ‘cause your eyes were on the water and nothing else,” Dean shoots back. “I haven’t seen anyone we know though,” he adds, because they are there to do a job after all. He settles back, feeling a little proud of himself and closes his eyes. It’s easier to relax now that Cas is there. He doesn’t have to keep a lookout himself, he tells himself, letting the soft piano music wash over him. Cas doesn’t disturb him, though Dean can feel his eyes on him. He tries not to smirk. He doesn’t expect Cas’ hand to slip into his, interlinking their fingers. Assuming someone is looking, Dean raises Cas’ knuckles to his lips and smiles. Cas doesn’t pull away. In fact, they pass the time holding hands in a comfortable silence. 

They have lunch at the poolside, even though nobody of interest appears. The regional poker player who argued with her husband hasn’t gone after him and is instead reading a novel of some kind. It’s looking less and less likely she has anything to do with Michael and the odds were already pretty slim. 

The waiter takes away their empty plates and Dean glances back at the menu to confirm they offer pie. 

“We should get back to the room,” Cas says. His eyes dart around the pool area but nobody related to Michael has arrived. 

Dean doesn’t look up from the menu. “What about pie?”

The menu is taken from Dean’s hand and before he really knows what’s going on, Cas is in his lap, straddling him and kissing him way too filthily for a public place. Dean can’t help but moan, his arms wrapping around Cas’ back to hold him there. Cas pulls back just enough so he can speak, his lips still brushing against Dean’s with every word. 

“Are you  _ sure _ you don’t want to go back to the room?”

Dean can have pie anytime. 

“Let’s go,” he says, as Cas slides off him and holds out a hand.

Dean doesn’t take it. Instead, he slings an arm casually around Cas’ shoulders. If it just so happens this particular way of walking means Cas only has to look over to kiss Dean then that’s surely a happy coincidence. 

Cas looks over  _ a lot _ .

It isn’t heated, or desperate and it’s all a lot calmer than the make-out sessions they’ve shared in the elevator and hallways but somehow Cas manages to set Dean’s skin alight with every kiss. He draws them out but they aren’t hurried and Dean is happy to let Cas take him along for the ride. 

As ever, the illusion lasts until the very minute the door to their room closes behind them. Cas shrugs Dean off and for the first time, Dean feels it in his gut. Does he have to be so abrupt? 

Dean can only stare, his arm awkwardly at his side in the space that Cas had been standing in just a moment ago. They’d been kissing a minute ago. But then, a minute ago they’d been in the hall. Now they were in the safe room. The show is over. They don’t kiss in here. Not when nobody’s watching. It takes Dean a minute to realise they’re not actually going to have dessert in the bedroom. Of course, they’re not. Why would they? They’re colleagues on a job. Cas just wanted to get back to the room to check the laptops. He didn’t want Dean. 

Did Dean want Cas? 

“Luckily, we didn’t miss anything,” Cas says, saving Dean from having to consider that particular question. “What a waste of time.” 

“It really wasn’t,” Dean argues. Arguing is familiar territory. If he’s arguing he’s not missing Cas in his arms, Cas’ lips on his. He’s not regretting coming back to the room because at least out there they have to pretend to be interested in each other. 

Is he interested? 

“I saw that regional champ arguing with her husband. You might want to find out what that was about.” 

“We gave up an afternoon so that you could witness a lover’s quarrel that likely has no bearing on our mission.” 

How is it that Cas manages to get under Dean’s skin so easily? 

“We did things that two husbands would do on vacation. We helped our cover. We can’t be on  _ all the time _ . We relaxed, we ate, we made sure that we’re able to do our jobs.”

“We sat by a swimming pool and did nothing.” 

“We relaxed!” Dean argues.  _ We kissed. We held hands. We- _ “I know you don’t know what that is but it’s something we  _ humans _ do when we don’t need to be working.” 

There’s that look again. The barely veiled distaste. The curl of the lip. Dean wants to wipe it from Cas’ face. His blood is boiling but at this point, he doesn’t know whether he wants to hit the guy or kiss him. 

“That is exactly the attitude I would expect from the man who brought lubricant and condoms with him to a mission.”

Dean laughs. He can’t help it. “Oh yeah, ‘cause you were really complaining when you used them to get your dick in my ass.” 

They stop arguing to scowl at each other. Cas’ eyes are blazing and Dean can see him visibly fighting the urge to cross the room and strangle him. 

“We should get ready,” Cas grinds out. 

A small part of Dean that he doesn’t want to think too hard about is actually a little disappointed the fight won’t continue. Cas steps past him to the closet and pulls out yet another immaculate suit. Dean sees him hesitate. He sees Cas gauge the distance between them without looking at it directly. He sees an entire thought process play out behind Cas’ eyes before he slips past Dean and shuts himself in the bathroom to change. 

Dean stares at the closed door for a moment before scrubbing a hand over his face. Three days of working in close quarters with the guy and they’re still no closer to getting along than they had been beforehand. Not even the best sex of Dean’s life could apparently stop them from fighting each other at every opportunity. 

It’s almost a surprise to Dean that he  _ wants _ to stop fighting with Cas. It’s been the hallmark of their relationship since the day they met. He much prefers kissing Cas. Holding Cas. Lying under, on top of, or beside Cas. Dean wipes at his face again. What a mess. 

Still, he has to get changed and is sure to dress with extra care. If he focuses on his clothes then he doesn’t have to admit how much of his thoughts are occupied by the thought of being on display with Cas again and how he can steal all the kisses he wants. 


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel adjusts his cuffs in what looks like a nervous gesture. It isn't, of course. He's just checking that the comms attached to the hidden receiver in his ear are working. He gestures to Dean at the bar. Dean catches his eye and immediately calls over the bartender. Castiel hears every word and nods at him to confirm they're good. 

There's no way Dean can be expected to play poker  _ and _ analyze the conversations around him, so they've agreed Castiel will listen in. It's why they've got so much space between them right now when all Castiel wants to do is sidle up to Dean and hold him close. He can't, but any minute now the chime will ring to call the players to the table and Castiel can kiss Dean for luck. 

There are no doubt a host of ethical questions raised in the way Castiel is using this mission as a way to get close to Dean in a way that he never otherwise could. The mission had threatened to become a side note on several occasions so that Castiel could act out increasingly foolish fantasies. Hadn’t he wasted an entire afternoon that he should have been working just because he’d been able to bask at Dean’s side? There wasn’t a surveillance task in the world that could come close to holding his interest over holding Dean’s hand and exchanging soft kisses. 

It’s unethical. It’s unprofessional. But, it’s the only time Castiel will ever come close to acting on his long and deep-seated desire to kiss Dean Winchester.

The chime sounds and Dean turns from the bar. Castiel suppresses the sigh that rises in him. When Dean looks as good as he does in a tailored suit, with  _ that smile _ , how could Castiel want to do anything else but kiss him? 

Castiel meets him at the rope that separates the game from the floor. There’s a touch of lint on the shoulder of Dean’s suit that Castiel wipes away.

“You fuss like your mother,” Dean teases. 

Castiel smiles at him, fondly. “Just making sure you look your best.” 

It’s unnecessary. Dean always looks fantastic. 

“Wish me luck,” Dean says and it would be far, far too much for Castiel to hope that Dean wants to be kissed just as much as he does. But, he can pretend. 

He closes the short distance between them, his hand reaching to cup Dean’s face automatically, drawing him in. The first press of their lips is electric, as it always is, and Castiel has to fight the desire to take more than is appropriate for a public place. More than Dean is willing to give, and Dean has given a lot. Castiel is lucky that Dean is so committed to his job and the mission that he is so willing to lean into the cover of being husbands. He wouldn’t be so committed if he knew how much Castiel was enjoying it. 

Still, when Castiel draws back, it is Dean who chases him, kissing him once more before finding his way to his table. Once again, he is seated opposite Zachariah but there are a few new additions to the table and Castiel watches Dean shake their hands politely. 

Castiel stands apart from the gatherings on the floor, choosing instead to watch Dean get settled. It isn’t unreasonable. Several of the other partners are doing the same, as are most of Zachariah’s guards. Dean looks up and catches Castiel’s eye. He shoots him a frown, his head gesturing to the tables behind him before he smoothly shakes the hand of the player seated furthest from him. 

Castiel sweeps the room without moving and sees immediately what Dean had intended him to. Castiel has not studied the table plans as extensively as Dean has but even he can see that there are several notable absences. Two tables are being combined to make up for the lack of players and Castiel frowns. Only one person from each table had been eliminated the night before. There is no reason for the number of players to have been reduced so dramatically. He has the volume on the comms turned down for the moment but Dean is still on introductions and talking about the game, nobody has mentioned that between games an entire table seems to have disappeared. 

“Dean Winchester,” he hears Dean saying to the last player to join them, extending his hand. 

“Oh!” a woman’s voice says on a gasp. “I saw you earlier at the pool!” 

Castiel looks over and sure enough, Dean is talking to the woman they’d seen arguing with her husband.

“Did you?” Dean asks, pretending he hadn’t noticed. 

“You were with your husband,” she replies. Even though Castiel can’t see her face, he can hear her smiling. He turns the comms up a little. “I’m not surprised you didn’t see me. Newly weds?” 

Dean chuckles. “What makes you say that?” 

“The way you couldn’t keep your hands off each other,” the woman laughs. 

Dean laughs with her. “Yeah, it’s all pretty new. But,” Dean hesitates. “It’s nice.”

Castiel isn’t sure when he stopped breathing but the burning in his chest tells him he needs to take a breath. He tries not to gasp it down. He’s fine. He just wasn’t prepared to hear Dean talk about their relationship so casually.  _ So fondly _ .

_ Fake _ relationship. He tells himself. They’re not really married. Dean isn’t really interested in him. Dean kisses him when there’s a camera on them, to keep up appearances. Nothing more. Okay, there had been that blip the night before where they’d fallen into bed together. Well- everywhere but the bed. But beyond that, Dean has no interest in Castiel and if he knew just how long Castiel had been interested in him, then he would have turned right around the moment he realised they were going to be  _ ‘husbands’ _ .

Unprofessional to the last, Castiel realises he’s missed a part of the conversation. His attention returns in time to hear the woman asking how Dean and Castiel met. Castiel coughs into the back of his hand to cover a chuckle. 

“Through work,” Dean says and it’s practically the truth. Castiel doesn’t expect him to say anything more but Dean carries on. “I used to hate the guy. I really hated the way he did his job. I thought he was a robot,” Dean scoffs at himself but it sounds soft. “But, he really isn’t. He’s always got my back.” 

The woman gives an ‘aw’ and Castiel stops breathing again. His heart pounds over the sound of the comms but he still hears her say, “and here I am, married fifteen years and arguing on vacation about whose job it was to mail his mother’s Christmas present.” 

“We still fight,” Dean assures her. Castiel snorts but covers it with his drink. If she only knew. “But-” something in Dean’s voice softens. “I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else. I l-”

Whatever Dean is about to say is cut off by another chime, calling them to take their seats. Only now does Zachariah join them. Dean and the woman wish each other luck and sit down. The compere reminds everyone of the rules, blinds are posted and play begins. 

Castiel remembers to breathe. 

It’s all a ploy. It’s part of their cover. Dean doesn’t actually have feelings for him. There are at least a dozen agents Dean would want to be working with. He would choose any one of them to be his ‘husband’. He’d probably want to kiss any of them more than he’d ever want to kiss Castiel. But, the way he’d said it…

Castiel forces his thoughts onto the mission. Dean doesn’t think about Castiel like that. He doesn’t return the feelings Castiel has long pretended are just a crush. He has hated Castiel from the moment they met and has never given Castiel any reason to think otherwise. 

But, for now, Castiel will store up those words in the special place he stores all the moments he treasures with Dean. They’re not real, but he can pretend. Dean’s attention is fully on the game so Castiel moves away from his spectating spot and checks out the bar. 

There’s a small group of people he recognises. Other husbands and wives chatting about nothing in particular but they’re standing fairly close to two of Zachariah’s guards. Castiel attaches himself to the group easily and pretends to listen while keeping an ear on the guards. 

They aren’t saying anything and maybe that’s why it’s easy for Castiel’s thoughts to drift to Dean. His thoughts inevitably turn to Dean.

It had started as professional interest. Castiel had followed Dean’s career as he had all the agents he would be working alongside. Something about Dean had stood out though, even on paper. They hadn’t met at one of those god-awful mixers that seem to come with any job, but Castiel had seen him from across the room. Dean had been the most attractive man he’d ever laid eyes on. He still is. 

Castiel’s very first mission had been to extract Dean from a case that had gone wrong. He’d been excited to actually meet the guy, though he would have preferred to have done it under other circumstances. Dean had been injured. Badly injured. And it soon became clear that Dean did not hold Castiel in the same regard. In fact, Dean seemed to hate Castiel and it had never stopped. 

It had been a bitter pill to swallow. 

Since then, Castiel had remained strictly professional around Dean. Bitterly professional. Fighting him for cases and sometimes becoming the robot Dean imagined him to be. At least until he’d seen him standing at reception, knowing he was there to play the part of the happy couple. 

It had not been professionalism that had seen him kiss Dean that first time. Or any of the subsequent times. And there had been nothing professional about the way they had taken each other apart in the comfort of the safe room. That hadn’t been an act. Castiel still isn’t sure  _ what _ that had been. 

“Where is everyone?” the husband of the regional poker champion asks, gesturing to the room with his glass. “I’m sure there were more of us last night.”

Castiel turns his attention to the conversation but nobody seems to know anything. There’s some general agreement that more players are missing than should be, but nobody has any suggestions as to why. The guards remain silent and the only words spoken over Dean’s comms are about the bets. 

Castiel steps towards the bar. It’s going to be a long night. He gestures to the bartender and watches her make up his usual order. Water in a martini glass complete with a swirl of lemon peel. He watches it carefully, making sure nothing is slipped into it and it’s just about to be sent over when Castiel’s eyes fall on a menu. 

He points to something on it, rather than raise his voice over the others at the bar. The bartender nods and a slice of pie is added to the tray with the water martini. Castiel walks with the waiter as far as he can. He has to stop at the rope while one other staff lets the waiter through. 

It’s purely for security reasons that Castiel accompanies the tray. He has to make sure that nobody adds anything to the drink, or that the pie is switched out for something else. The look on Dean’s face when he sees the pie is nothing more than an additional reward. 

The pie is probably the only thing that saves Castiel from Dean’s increasingly foul mood. The cards are not with him tonight and he’s having to play far more conservatively than he would ever want to at this stage. Castiel only has a basic understanding of what that means for the game. For them it means Dean’s mood is dark whenever they break. He makes for Castiel each time, looking for something to fight about. 

With one break to go, Dean is almost murderous. Not at the table of course, he’s far too good a player to let anything slip, but with Castiel, there’s a little leeway. 

“You’re not doing badly,” Castiel assures him. “You’re still ahead. You’ll make it through to the next round even if you have to keep playing it safe.” 

Dean’s jaw clenches and Castiel is aware his advice means very little, but it’s also true. A few more safe hands and Dean will at least qualify for the following night even if it’s not the comfortable win he hopes for. 

“Make the next drink you send me whiskey?” Dean rasps. “Double. Triple. Whatever.” 

“You know I’m not going to do that,” Castiel says smoothly, stepping into Dean’s space. “Not while you’re working,” he adds. He means it to sound playful but Dean is not in the mood for games and Castiel can’t help but sound tense. 

The chime rings but Castiel keeps Dean a moment longer. 

“You’ve come back from far weaker positions than this,” he says, making a show of brushing the creases from Dean’s suit. “You can do this.” 

Dean looks into Castiel’s face with such intensity, Castiel can’t help but kiss him. His hand curls around the back of Dean’s head, holding him there so he can calm him. He doesn’t know if kissing Dean can actually calm him but it feels like a good enough ploy. Dean kisses him back. His hand cups Castiel’s face, drawing him in, refusing to let him go. When they part, they go reluctantly. Castiel wants to kiss him again. 

“Mr. Winchester,” the compere calls. Dean must be the last of the players to return. Dean tears his eyes from Castiel, or perhaps that’s just wishful thinking on Castiel’s part. 

The cards at least treat Dean better in the closing stages of the game. Or maybe he’s just bluffing. Castiel can’t tell but when the final hand is dealt, it is the regional champion who had seen them at the pool who comes out on top. Castiel notes Zachariah’s scowl and he glances pointedly at one of his guards. The guard nods but nothing happens. Castiel files it away. Dean shakes her hand and follows the others out past the rope. 

Castiel would linger but all the players are already heading back to their rooms. The guard in question doesn’t attempt to follow the champion and her husband. 

Dean is still angry. He doesn’t show it, but Castiel can see it in the tightness of his jaw and the way he holds himself. Castiel slips his arm around Dean’s and gives him a reassuring squeeze. 

“You played well,” he says. Dean’s eyes search him for a moment, trying to determine whether this is part of the cover or a genuine attempt at consolation. If he comes to any conclusions, he doesn’t make them known to Castiel, but allows himself to be steered towards the elevator that leads to their room. Walking arm in arm with Dean is comfortable, but the space between them still begs for more. The kiss from earlier feels as though it started something yet to be finished. 

Neither of them make a move to finish it. Castiel doesn’t dare. If he kisses Dean with all the want he feels right now, he knows he will never stop.

The door to their room closes behind them and Castiel pulls away. He always pulls away. He has to. He’s made it a strict rule to not hold onto Dean past the line of the door. Dean wouldn’t want him to anyway but the show of being husbands cannot extend into the safe room. 

It just can’t. 

Castiel isn’t that strong. 

Sometimes he thinks Dean regrets how quickly Castiel leaves his side, but that’s just vain fantasy. 

So many of his thoughts on Dean are wishful thinking and fantasy. 

“Well?” Dean asks, rounding on Castiel. 

Castiel arches an eyebrow. “Well, what?”

“Did you get anything? Hear anything? Do we know when Michael’s coming yet?” 

They’re reasonable questions but there’s an edge to Dean’s voice. He’s frustrated and lashing out now that he doesn’t need to hide it. 

Castiel tries not to rise with him. He isn’t going to give Dean the fight he so clearly wants. 

“Nothing tonight,” he says evenly. He’d thought about making Dean another drink but right now he doesn’t feel so inclined. 

“Nothing?! The hell have you been doing all night?!”

“My job,” Castiel grinds back. It’s hard not to rise to the bait when Dean slips under his skin so easily. 

“If you were doing your job, we’d have leads.”

“I kept you fed and hydrated. I made sure you weren’t poisoned, bugged, and that your cover remained intact. You’re welcome.” 

“Looking after me isn’t the mission!” Dean laughs but there is no mirth there. He makes his way to the minifridge and grabs something suitably alcoholic. “This is Tahoe all over again, man.” 

Castiel frowns, casting his mind back. Not that he has to think too hard. He’ll never forget Tahoe, but he doesn’t see why Dean is bringing it up now. 

“I don’t see how this has anything to do with your time in Hell.” 

“You were so worried about me, you threw the mission.” Dean almost shouts it but he catches himself in time. Their room might be safe but yelling about past missions won’t exactly help their cover. 

“My mission was to extract  _ you _ . The target was already gone by the time I got there, anyway.”

“You could have gone after him,” Dean protests. 

They’ve never talked about it before. But then, they’ve never really talked about anything before. 

“Dean, you would have died,” Castiel says. “You very nearly died anyway.”

“And the mission failed because you were too concerned with getting me out than chasing down the bad guy.”

“ _ Your _ mission failed,” Castiel hisses. “It happens. My mission was to get you out alive and I did.” 

“Bet you’re regretting that one.” Dean smirks but it’s something cold. Unnerving. “Could have let me die and then you could be here working with someone who’s never failed a mission and getting off with someone you actually like.”

Castiel doesn’t remember crossing the distance between them. His hands find the lapels of Dean’s jacket and he pulls him close. Their lips clash in something that’s a little rough for a kiss but it only takes a second for them to find their rhythm. 

Dean doesn’t push Castiel away. That’s perhaps the most surprising thing about all of this. Castiel had intended to shut Dean up, to tell him he was being ridiculous, to point out that he likes Dean just fine. Somehow that had become the two of them tugging at their jackets, tossing them aside and stumbling towards the bed without relinquishing the other’s lips. 

Dean falls first. His legs meet the bed and he goes down, falling lightly onto his back. Even as he falls, he reaches for Castiel. Castiel goes with him. He lets Dean entwine their fingers if only so he can pin Dean’s hands above his head while Castiel kisses him, straddling him for leverage. 

Dean moans against Castiel’s lips and grinds his hips upward. He’s already so hard but then, so is Castiel. 

Castiel leaves Dean’s lips, kissing his way across Dean’s jaw instead, looking for the spot he’d found the night before. The one on his neck.  _ That _ one. The one that makes Dean gasp so beautifully. 

“Cas,” Dean breathes, arching his body seeing as Castiel hasn’t released his hands. 

Castiel will never admit the thrill that runs through him every time Dean calls him that. To everyone else he is Castiel, immediately followed by a comment at what an unusual name he has. Dean had surpassed that entirely and gone straight to ‘Cas’. 

“ _ Cas… _ ”

Dean surges upwards, breaking his hands free of the grip. It isn’t a surprise. They’re evenly matched in most things. His fingers find Castiel’s shirt and he can see him holding back, undoing each button with trembling hands rather than just tear it from him. 

“You can rip it,” Castiel says, heedless of the cost. It’s just a dress shirt. He has others and there is something undeniably hot in the way Dean immediately pulls the shirt apart, tossing it aside so he can get his mouth on Castiel’s neck. His chest. Anywhere he can reach. 

Castiel somehow manages to unbutton Dean’s shirt, throwing it somewhere behind them as they fall flush against each other, onto the bed. This time, they don’t fall off. This time when Castiel finds himself kneeling on the floor, it’s a deliberate, measured movement that takes Dean’s pants with him. 

Propping himself up on his shoulders, Dean looks down at him, over the erection tenting his boxers. Castiel would like nothing more than to kiss him again. He looks incredible with his lips barely parted, his green eyes bright where they land on Castiel. But alas, he has to make do with kissing the inside of Dean’s thighs, his fingers slipping under the waistband of the boxers and pulling them down to discard them too. 

Castiel leans in to kiss a trail along Dean’s cock. He wants to take a moment to admire it, to appreciate that he has this moment, but if he does that then Dean might call the whole thing off. He might decide that he’s not all that interested in hate-fucking Castiel after all and he can’t lose this. 

_ He can’t _ .

He wraps his hand around the base of the shaft, closing his mouth around the head, savouring the way Dean moans at the contact. Dean rocks his hips gently, not enough to thrust, just enough to get comfortable in Castiel’s mouth as he licks, sucks and pulls out every trick he knows to reduce Dean to breathy groans. 

His hand works what he can’t wrap his tongue around and Dean’s hand finds its way to the back of Castiel’s head. Castiel can feel him trying to hold back, to not fuck himself deeper into his mouth. 

“Cas-” Dean stutters. His voice sounds wrecked and Castiel can’t help but glow. He did that. He brought Dean to this. 

But then Dean is pulling him off. Castiel doesn’t have time to worry that it’s over, their lips crash together as Dean quickly works to get Castiel as naked as he is. This time, it is Castiel who ends up lying on the bed. Dean covers him, leaning down to kiss him as though Castiel is the air he needs to breathe. Castiel certainly needs Dean. It seems impossible that he ever lived without being able to kiss these lips. 

Dean’s lips move to his throat, his chest and in a movement Castiel doesn’t see coming, Dean straddles him instead. Except, he’s facing the wrong way. Not that Dean’s back isn’t as gorgeous as the rest of him, it’s just not the view Castiel was expecting. But then Dean adjusts his position and returns the favour, taking Castiel into his mouth and all thoughts of what Castiel expected dissipate with a loud groan. 

Castiel’s head rolls back, his eyes sliding shut as wet heat engulfs his cock. This is more than he ever imagined. More than he had ever dared to imagine. Sense returns enough for him to realise why Dean had changed their positions and Dean’s cock is  _ right there _ . Close enough for Castiel to kiss. And so he does. 

He pushes himself up on one elbow, trying not to disturb Dean and his, frankly, exquisite ministrations. Dean moans again as Castiel starts sucking him, the vibrations only adding to the bliss. 

The silence of the room only amplifies the sounds of flesh slapping, tongues licking, and the two of them groaning into each other. Castiel had never considered himself a particularly vocal lover before but Dean brings it out in him. He doesn’t mind. 

Dean’s fingers stroke Castiel in firm, hard motions, almost at odds with the soft, sweetness of his mouth. His tongue swirls around the head of Castiel’s cock and it’s too much too fast. Castiel taps at Dean’s hip, trying to warn him but not wanting to lose the weight of Dean in his mouth. Dean doesn’t stop. Ever the gambler, he doubles down, stroking him faster, doing things with his tongue Castiel can’t even comprehend right now. He lets Dean slip from his mouth as he comes, loudly, into Dean’s mouth. 

Dean doesn’t let up, he swallows everything Castiel gives him and when he turns, he looks grateful for the privilege but Castiel’s vision is no doubt clouded with the post-orgasmic haze. He pushes at Dean’s hips, rearranging him so he can look up at Dean’s face as he finishes him off with his hand. 

It doesn’t take long. A few fast strokes and Dean spills his release over Castiel’s chest. He sees Dean bite down on his lip, stifling those incredible sounds he makes. It’s an illusion but Dean’s eyes seem brighter in the afterglow and he looks down at Castiel with such warmth, he can’t help but smile softly back. 

The orgasm must have gone to Dean’s head. He leans down and kisses Castiel quickly. 

“Wait there,” he murmurs, as though there is any chance of Castiel moving when he feels as sated as he is. 

He lies on the bed, boneless, weightless, with only Dean’s rapidly cooling come on his chest to ground him. Dean returns with a cloth from the bathroom and, like a gentleman, cleans him up. 

This is more than Castiel ever expected. All of it is more than he ever expected, but  _ this… _ It’s a dream. Every piece that Dean shares of himself, every kiss, every sigh, every whispered, ‘ _ Cas _ ,’ feels like a dream. If it were not for the mission, Castiel would have to assume it was a dream but then not even his dreams could have conjured such bliss. 

He has to be careful not to take too much. He doesn’t know what Dean thinks of all this. If Dean thinks anything of all this. He wants to reach out and hold him. He wants to kiss him until they fall asleep. He wants- He wants so much and every time they kiss behind closed doors it’s so much harder to hold back.

Dean throws the cloth back into the bathroom before he slides into the bed. There’s a pause while Castiel wonders if he’s expected to get into the bed beside him. That is where he was supposed to sleep. Have things changed? They managed to sleep beside each other just fine on that first night but now-

“You coming?” Dean asks, holding the covers up so Castiel can slip under them. 

Castiel doesn’t hesitate and there’s something wonderfully endearing about the way Dean makes sure to cover him completely, making sure every part of him is warm and comfortable. And it is comfortable. It would be even more comfortable if it weren’t for the occasional patch that reminds them of what they did the night before. 

The lights go out and Castiel tries to settle. The contentment his body feels is at odds with the way his mind races, wondering what Dean is about to do. He didn’t have to worry about this the night before. They both fell into oblivion after yet another orgasm. 

Dean hadn’t cleaned him up. Dean hadn’t called him to bed and he hadn’t sighed with satisfaction as he stretched under the covers. 

“Hey, Cas?” Dean whispers into the darkness. 

Castiel’s heart constricts. Here it comes. This is where Dean throws him from the room and their cover transforms to bitter exes. 

Dean’s arm comes over him, covering Castiel’s chest and holding him there. “Night, Cas,” he whispers, sounding like he’s already half asleep. 

Castiel lets out a breath of relief. “Good night, Dean,” he says, finding it infinitely easier to relax with the warmth of Dean’s touch around him. 


	9. Chapter 9

The soft sound of piano keys and gentle chimes creep into Castiel’s sleep, drawing him back from dreams of Dean. Barely opening his eyes, he reaches for his phone, cancelling the alarm with a practised swipe. He rolls onto his back and  _ oh-  _ they weren’t dreams at all. 

Dean rolls with him, curling his arms around him and hooking a leg over him, refusing to allow an inch of space between them. He’s asleep. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. 

Castiel holds him, not quite willing to let him go quite yet. He stares at the ceiling, running through the morning’s tasks in his head. He’ll go down now for his swim. His hand strokes down the expanse of Dean’s back, he hadn’t expected his skin to be so soft. Then yoga which is less for his body and more an excellent means of calming the mind. He finds his mind is easily distracted these days. Dean’s breath is warm against his neck. It makes his hair stand on end.

Dean mumbles something that sounds like, “Cas,” and Castiel can’t help but smile. Warmth spreading through him. 

Then he should check the logs, write up the report from last night and see if there’s any sign of Michael. Dean’s fingers start moving where they rest against Castiel’s arm, tracing meaningless patterns. He has to-

“Go back to sleep,” Dean murmurs, kissing him below the ear, before he nuzzles into Castiel’s neck. 

It’s a dream. It’s not real. Dean is imagining being tangled up with someone he likes. Someone he _wants_ to wake up with. Someone he wants to hold closer. Castiel has too much work to do. He needs to get started. He didn’t swim yesterday, the show he put on for Dean doesn’t count. He’s falling into bad habits. He needs to write the report. He needs to get out of bed. 

As though he catches Castiel’s thoughts, Dean kisses his neck again. And again.

And again. 

This isn’t a hate fuck. This is soft. This has feeling. There is no way Dean is so oblivious that he doesn’t know what he’s doing. His teeth graze Castiel’s ear, drawing a soft sigh from them both. Castiel looks down at him and Dean cups his face, leaning up to kiss him properly. He doesn’t pull away.

Dean rolls with him, drawing his thoughts back into the bed. The idea of leaving it seems ludicrous. Why would he even have considered it? Dean’s lips are soft and warm. He draws Castiel in with gentle, barely-there presses that set his skin alight. The longer, deeper kisses draw gasps from them both. 

There is nothing hurried about it. They lie in bed, exchanging kisses as though there is nothing else in the world but this moment. Michael could already be in the hotel, but Castiel can’t bring himself to care. Not when Dean’s lips part so beautifully for him. 

They stay there just like that, not escalating even though Castiel rocks his hips against Dean, inviting him to feel how hard he is. Dean does the same, but they don’t go any further than lazy kisses. Then their phones simultaneously buzz with the distinctive bell that tells them their check-in is due and Castiel freezes. As though Dean is about to wake up suddenly, having no notion of what he’s been doing. 

He has clearly been perfectly okay with what they’ve been doing. 

Dean lets out a groan of frustration, chasing Castiel’s lips for one last kiss before reluctantly pulling away to check his phone. 

“Check-in,” he says unnecessarily as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Want me to take care of it? You can grab the first shower.”

Castiel can feel that he’s staring, but he doesn’t know what to make of this. Where is the Dean that hates him? Where is the Dean that would prefer a separate room, in a separate hotel on an entirely different mission? 

“Cas?” Dean asks, waving his hand in front of Castiel’s face. “Ground control to Major Tom.”

Castiel nods and pushes the covers off him. He’s naked but Dean has already turned his attention to the phone. Dean’s naked too. They’re naked. There’s nothing to cover himself with and Castiel doesn’t even know if covering himself is necessary. 

He doesn’t  _ know _ .

He crosses the room to the bathroom, leaning against the door behind him as it closes. He’s still hard. 

Through the door, Castiel hears Dean laughing. He must have gotten Sam. 

“ _ I was getting my beauty sleep-Yeah. No, I know. We’re allowed to sleep, man. Michael isn’t even here yet.”  _

But they hadn’t been sleeping. They’d been in bed but they hadn’t been sleeping. And now Dean is laughing about it. He’s on the other side of the door, laughing and joking with his brother after having spent the morning kissing Castiel, fully aware of the fact that he was  _ kissing Castiel _ . 

Which means that at least on some level, Dean Winchester wanted to kiss Castiel. 

He hears Dean hang up the call and is torn between what he wants to do and what he should do. 

He  _ should _ go back out there and ask Dean what the hell is going on between them. 

He  _ wants _ to go back out there, grab Dean and take him into the shower with him. It’s easily big enough for the two of them.

In the end, he does neither. If he asks Dean, there’s a chance he’ll withdraw and Castiel will lose whatever it is they’ve got going on. As for what he wants to do… his hand reaches for the handle but then he hears Dean’s voice again. Perhaps he hadn’t cut the call. Maybe Castiel won’t drag him into the bathroom while he’s checking in. Though the thought of what they could do to each other in here is enough to make his cock twitch and it’s already enjoyed a morning of rutting gently against Dean’s thigh, the mattress, anywhere Castiel could find friction. 

He starts the shower running and slides in, already touching himself before he steps under the water. He’d done this yesterday too. He hadn’t meant to, but then Dean had said that he swims naked and isn’t that an image Castiel will file away forever? It isn’t the image he holds to now though. Not when he can imagine crowding Dean into the shower, his lips following the streams of water across his skin. He knows the sounds Dean makes and he’s learning quickly what Dean likes. It isn’t much to imagine Dean’s hands sliding all over him, bringing them together to jerk off under the water. 

Castiel comes with a groan that Dean must have heard, but he can’t be too embarrassed. Dean’s heard worse from him. Dean’s drawn worse from him. Even if he still doesn’t know what it means. If it means anything at all. 

He rinses himself off and wraps himself in a towel, telling himself that he just looks like he’s taken a shower. That’s all. His cheeks are flushed from the heat. Nothing more. Then Castiel steps into the room and finds Dean leaning back on the bed, covered this time with the bedsheets. His cheeks are flushed. His lips parted on slow, panting breaths. 

Dean grins at him. “I’ve ordered breakfast. Should be here soon.” 

Castiel nods but can’t think of anything to say. ‘ _ Were you thinking of me while I thought of you? _ ’ feels like an intimate step too far, even though they’d spent the night sucking each other’s cocks. 

“Dean-” he starts, but he doesn’t really know what he’s going to say. ‘ _ I like you as far more than a colleague and have for many years. I’m not sure if you have feelings for me too, but I would like to continue exploring an intimate relationship with you. _ ’

Dean’s grin falters under his gaze and Castiel immediately retreats. He won’t lose this. 

He can’t lose this. 

“Thank you for ordering breakfast,” he smiles, relieved when Dean smiles back. 

“Well, we got a busy day ahead of us,” Dean says, sliding from the bed and looking for wherever his boxers landed the night before. Castiel is closer to them so he hands them over. It should be weird, but Dean just accepts them and slips them on. 

“Michael’s here?” Castiel asks quickly. 

Dean gives him one of his many winning smiles. “Even better. Sam says that one of your bugs went offline last night. He got it working again but-”

Castiel groans, bringing his hand to rub at the bridge of his nose. “Not maintenance.”

“Maintenance,” Dean says sunnily, even though Castiel knows he hates it as much as he does. He has to. Everyone does. They’re about to lose a day double checking that all the bugs are where they’re supposed to be and working properly. It’s tedious, it’s risky, and it makes perfect sense to do it now when Michael is surely about to appear. 

“Alright,” Castiel sighs. “Go shower. We’ll have breakfast and then start the rounds.” 

“Can’t wait,” Dean says, patting Castiel’s shoulder as he passes. It starts as a pat, at least. It becomes a gentle squeeze and Castiel still doesn’t know what’s going on but he’s got plenty to distract himself with. 

He dresses quickly and compares the list of bugs on his phone with those feeding to the laptops. There’s a knock at the door to announce the arrival of breakfast. Castiel double checks he has his gun just on the off chance it’s something a little more sinister than the waiter. 

It isn’t and Dean has done an excellent job with breakfast. Castiel brings it into the room, making space beside one of the laptops so they can sit together while they eat. It’s not intentional. It’s just easier than moving both laptops. 

It’s intentional. 

He assumes the smaller portion of eggs and toast is for him. There’s a fruit salad and yoghurt which Castiel knows Dean would never touch. The larger plate of bacon, hash browns, eggs, and pancakes though? That has Dean written all over it. He even ordered coffee to save them having to make their own. 

Dean steps out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, rubbing another at his hair. Castiel freezes at the sight. He can’t help himself. There is something irresistible about Dean. Castiel watches him cross the room to the closet. He pulls out a suit and dresses as quickly as Castiel had. He won’t want his breakfast getting cold. When he turns, he sees that Castiel has watched the whole show and hasn’t actually sat to eat his own food. He doesn’t call him out on it. He just gives him that grin again and slips into the seat beside him. 

Their conversation is inevitably about work but Castiel can’t be sorry for it. He doesn’t even know what he would talk to Dean about. There are plenty of things he wants to ask, a dozen conversations he wants to have, but Dean hates him and wouldn’t be interested. 

Or at least, Dean used to hate him. 

Generally, one doesn’t have repeated sex with the person they hate. They don’t indulge in lengthy morning make-out sessions either and masturbate to the memory. 

Does Dean hate him? 

If Dean doesn’t hate him, then what are they? Colleagues who took ‘being married’ a little too far? Terrible agents who put their own pleasure above the mission? Are they  _ anything _ ? 

“We should start in the public areas,” Castiel says. Dean hadn’t even been talking about where they should start but if Castiel doesn’t say something,  _ anything _ , his brain is going to short circuit trying to figure out what is happening between them. 

Dean nods, his mouth full of bacon. Castiel tries not to track the movement of his tongue as he licks his lips. 

Tries not to. 

Fails. 

“It’s not those I’m worried about.” Dean admits. “It’s the ones in the private rooms. We know Zachariah doesn’t leave his room in the day and they’re crawling with guards.”

“Then I’ll do them later. During the game. They’re all mostly empty during that time.” Castiel says it with a shrug, as though it’s of no consequence. It isn’t. He’s not worried about sneaking around what few guards remain while their bosses play cards downstairs, but Dean looks up at him as though it’s madness. 

“On your own? Without backup?” 

“I did it on my own, without backup, the first time,” Castiel points out. 

“Yeah, but that was before they got here and ramped up their security.”

Castiel huffs, an argument forming on his tongue. He should have known they’d end up fighting. Why wouldn’t they? He is about to argue that he is perfectly capable of doing his job. It is nothing to him if he has to sneak past one guard or ten. Dean’s speciality is infiltration, Castiel’s is in espionage. The barb never comes. Instead, Castiel catches Dean’s eye and his annoyance dies instantly. 

Dean isn’t challenging him because he thinks Castiel can’t do the job. Dean’s an excellent agent, a fantastic actor who can maintain even an elaborate cover but right now he isn’t acting and his eyes tell Castiel all he needs to know. 

Dean is worried. Dean knows Castiel  _ can _ do it alone, he doesn’t  _ want _ him to do it alone. 

“I’ll be fine,” Castiel says eventually. 

Dean doesn’t look reassured but he doesn’t argue. He mumbles, “alright, good,” and quickly stuffs his mouth with more bacon. 

They can’t drag out breakfast forever, however much they both seem to want to. Probably because Dean hates maintenance as much as Castiel does. 

“Alright,” Dean says, reluctantly. “Let’s do this.” 

Castiel sighs, but gestures for Dean to lead the way. 

He  _ hates _ maintenance. 

Castiel  _ loves _ maintenance. 

He and Dean have gone around the entire resort, arm in arm or hand in hand. There has been a whole day of casual touches, of gentle kisses, and far more heated moments stolen when they think no one is looking. If anyone asks, it’s because they know their target has bugs everywhere too. 

By far, the best part of the day is when they slip into the conference room Michael is supposed to utilise. Castiel checks under the table but the bugs are still planted, still hidden, and still working. He’s at least out from under the table when somebody tries the door. 

Dean thinks best on his feet it seems. 

He has Castiel sitting on the table with Dean slotted between his legs, their lips devouring each other as though they simply couldn’t wait a second longer and had fallen into the nearest room to satisfy their desperate need. 

The man who enters the room is one of Uriel’s men and looks beyond embarrassed to have interrupted them. He’s a terrible guard, Castiel decides as the guard clears his throat and says in a sheepish voice. “Hey, you can’t be in here.” 

Dean ignores him, pushing Castiel onto his back and following him down. 

“Hey!” the guy calls again. 

Dean makes an excellent show of having only just realised he’s there. 

“Oh,” he grins. “Hi?”

“You can’t be in here.” 

“Sorry,” Dean says, taking Castiel’s hand and helping him to his feet. “Come on, angel. Let’s get back to the room.”

_ Angel _ .

Castiel kisses him again in the hallway and several more times in the elevator. 

Dean kisses him back each and every time. 

Castiel suggests they break for lunch at the buffet and Dean kisses him. They bump shoulders as they fill their plates, deliberately getting in each other’s way. Dean laughs and kisses him. Before they leave, Dean grabs some pie to take back to the room. 

“I didn’t thank you for the pie yesterday,” he says suddenly. He thanks him with a kiss. 

Castiel has been on vacation with actual lovers who he has kissed less than he kisses Dean. 

When they return to the room, Castiel pulls away but for once it’s because he has to. One of the laptops flashes with an automated alert and even though he’d like nothing more than to hold onto Dean, they really do have to do their job. 

“Anything interesting?” Dean asks, sitting on the edge of the bed with his pie. 

Castiel checks, checks again, and then finally sits down at the laptop to check a third time. 

“The tables have been rearranged for tonight.”

Dean doesn’t look surprised. 

Looking up at him, Castiel says, “You’re down to two tables and our regional champion has withdrawn.” 

“Withdrawn?” Dean asks through a mouthful of apple filling. “She was winning.” 

“She’s withdrawn and-” Castiel taps a few keys, “already checked out.” He stares at the screen, running through scenarios in his head. 

“Hey,” Dean calls, drawing him out of himself. “What’s up?”

“The better players of the night leave when they have no reason to. I’m not comfortable letting you go down there without backup.” 

Dean laughs, almost losing a thoroughly chewed piece of crust in the process. “Dude, you’re the one going into their rooms alone. I’d rather be there to back  _ you _ up.” 

They hold each other’s gaze for a moment and maybe it’s Castiel’s imagination, maybe it’s because they’ve spent most of the day kissing each other, but he thinks there’s a lot more feeling there than there usually is. 

“I’ll be fine,” Dean says eventually. 

“I will too.”

They still don’t look away from each other. 


	10. Chapter 10

Despite their mutual assurances, neither of them look particularly happy when they come to part. Castiel seems to take longer to dress than normal but that might just be because he keeps getting distracted by Dean. He seems to reach whole new levels of transcendent in his fitted suits. If he chose to wear a tuxedo, Castiel isn’t sure he’d survive. 

By comparison, Castiel isn’t even wearing a suit. Not one he’d wear in public anyway. He won’t be able to go walking around the resort in what is so obviously a suit designed for stealth, but he intends to keep to the gardens and enter through the windows anyway. That way, if anyone chooses to check the door logs they’ll find they were only opened when they should be. 

In perfect unison, they slip their comm pieces into their ears. If they’re going to be apart for the evening then they’ll need a way to communicate. Protocol demands it and it seems neither of them want to leave the other without a way of knowing they’re okay. 

Not that they’ve said anything to even hint at such a sentiment. 

“ _ Comms check, _ ” Sam’s voice says into their ears, as clearly as if he were standing beside them. 

“Wings on maintenance,” Castiel says. Dean catches his eye and mouths ‘ _ Feathers _ ’ at him. Castiel rolls his eyes and waits for the double click that confirms that Sam heard him. He looks at Dean expectantly.

Dean speaks quietly so there’s no chance Castiel can hear him naturally. “My name is Dean Winchester. I’m an Aquarius. I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach and frisky-”

“ _ Dean! _ ” Sam hisses.

“Comms are working,” Dean says with a grin at Castiel. 

He can’t help but smile back, silently mouthing, ‘ _ Freckles _ ’.

Dean glances at his watch. “I better get down there.” 

Castiel nods but he doesn’t move. 

Neither does Dean. 

It takes another minute before Dean actually acts on what he said. He steps towards the door but Castiel stops him.

“Dean?” 

Dean pauses, his hand already reaching for the door. As he turns, Castiel steps into his space, cups his face and kisses him softly. When he pulls back, Dean is looking at him caught somewhere between shock and bliss. 

“For luck,” Castiel murmurs and Dean grins. 

His hand reaches for the back of Castiel’s head, curling around it lightly, pulling him in for another kiss. Equally soft but lingering. 

“For luck,” Dean whispers, kissing him again on the forehead. He holds Castiel’s eye a beat longer than he needs to and then he is gone. 

The silence in the room after he’s left feels deafening. At least until Sam clears his throat awkwardly in Castiel’s ear. 

“ _ So uh...what was that? _ ”

“Not now, Sam,” Castiel says, trying and failing to hide a smile. “We’re working.” 

Castiel takes a seat at one of the laptops and watches to make sure that everyone is where they should be. Michael’s associates are all in rooms on the floor beneath his suite and right now, they’re all either at the game or the bar, save for the handful of guards left behind to make sure everything is secure. 

Unsurprisingly, Michael doesn’t even trust his closest associates. Michael’s suite can only be accessed by a single elevator and that is guarded by a heavy of a different ilk to the goons Zachariah surrounds himself with. This one looks actually dangerous.

There are two of Uriel’s men left on the other floor. Every half an hour, one of them walks the hallway, checks the doors, and generally makes a show of doing their job. They’re not very good at it, Castiel notes. They don’t even go into the rooms. He’s going to have an easier time than he’d initially expected. 

He sees Dean on one of the feeds. His eyes linger a little longer than he means to but it’s time for him to put his cover into action. He rings down to room service and orders dinner for one. Then he turns on the television and selects a movie he already knows well enough to hold a vague conversation about and confirms the payment screen. 

As far as anyone knows, Mr. Castiel Winchester is having a break from watching his husband play poker at a distance and will be relaxing with dinner and a movie. He throws a bathrobe over his suit and waits for his dinner to arrive. 

He’d ordered a salad, so at least he knows it won’t have gotten cold while he works and he can actually eat it later. There’s a slice of pie for Dean too. He’d debated whether or not Dean really needed more pie, but it’s a simple gesture and he doubts Dean will ever turn down the chance at pie. 

“Check,” he says into the microphone concealed in his collar. 

“ _ You’re all clear, _ ” Sam replies. 

Dean cannot respond verbally but there’s the double click over the line to show he’s good. 

Castiel goes to the window and slides it open. If anyone checks the logs, they’ll see that nobody left the room save for Dean to play poker. It’s not a long way down, but more than a comfortable drop. Still, Castiel isn’t the best for nothing. He takes a breath, attaches a line to the window and lets himself fall. 

It’s a relatively simple exercise to check the bugs, though a little strenuous. At least he keeps himself fit enough that climbing resort walls and pulling himself onto balconies isn’t too much of a strain for Castiel. If anything, he regrets Dean isn’t here to see it. It’s been a while since Castiel has needed to show off these particular skills, and never for Dean. 

He trusts Sam to make sure the cameras won’t catch him and waits for him to confirm that the coast is clear before Castiel makes any move. He’s helped by the fact that so close to Christmas there are enough festivities being held to distract those not playing in the poker game. Even if there weren’t, the winter chill hardly allows for gatherings outside. 

“ _ Clear, _ ” Sam says and Castiel makes for Michael’s suite. He’ll go in through the balcony. He already knows the doors are unlocked. He made sure to do so the last time he was there just in case he needed an easy way back in. Until Michael arrives, it’s unlikely anyone has checked them.

They haven’t. Castiel slips into the suite and ensures nothing has been disturbed. The guard in the hallway never leaves his post. 

He drops down to a balcony on the floor below, the floor where Zachariah, Uriel, and the others are staying. Sam keeps him informed of the patrol but Castiel doesn’t take him up on the offer to send up an accidental order of room service to distract them. He’s always felt such distractions could be seen as too suspicious and Castiel is  _ very _ quiet. 

By the time he slips back into his own room, the movie has long since finished but Dean hasn’t returned yet. 

“Wings reporting in,” Castiel says into the comms. He can hear Dean in his head saying, ‘ _ Feathers. _ ’ “Maintenance complete.” 

“ _ Copy, _ ” Sam responds.

There’s a quick double click from Dean and it’s impossible to judge tone in such a thing but he responds so quickly, Castiel wonders if he’s been waiting to hear that message all night. 

He doesn’t need to go anywhere. Now that he’s back, Castiel can sit with his salad and wait for Dean. He could catch up on some work. There’s nothing that particularly requires his attention but he’s sure he can find something. He could even make a start on his report and save having to begin it in the morning. 

He does none of these things. Castiel takes off the suit that saw him climbing the building and after the quickest shower known to man, he dresses and hurries down to the tournament floor. 

He’s almost relieved to see Dean still in his seat and looking a lot brighter than he had done the night before. Nobody else would notice it, but Castiel does. It’s in the gleam of his eye, the way he holds himself, the way his smile seems to shine. He doesn’t see Castiel arrive, his attention fully on the game which looks as though it only has a few hands to play. There’s no way for Castiel to get his attention.

Almost no way.

Castiel makes for the bar and orders the usual. Water in a martini glass, keep the fruit. He follows it to the rope and watches the waiter place it beside Dean. There’s a moment where Dean looks at it warily, wondering where it came from. Then, instinctively, he looks up and his eyes find Castiel at the spectator’s rope. 

Maybe it’s wishful thinking on Castiel’s part again but there is surely no way Dean is acting out the sheer joy that spreads across his face when he sees him. He raises the glass in a silent toast to Castiel and his smile doesn’t falter, eyes gleaming even as he raises the glass to his lips.

He turns back to the game almost immediately and it’s only then that Castiel realises there are more people than usual standing at the rope. Spectators tend to dip in and out of watching rounds but this time, almost everyone is watching. There isn’t much in the way of conversation between people as another hand is dealt. 

Castiel has missed something. 

He doesn’t really understand the fascination of poker, so even if he’d been present, he might still have missed it. It looks like just another round. Blinds are posted, bets are made, cards are turned over but the room almost holds its breath with suspense. 

The last card is turned over and only three players remain, Dean among them. The colour of the chips he throws in means little to Castiel, but several people gasp. The last players turn their cards over and there’s a smattering of applause for reasons Castiel cannot discern. 

The compere turns to the room. “Queens full of Nines. Mr. Winchester wins.” 

The applause gets louder and there is nothing false in Dean’s grin as the other players shake his hand. He tries to disentangle himself from them all, his eyes looking for Castiel at every opportunity. People pat his back and Castiel hears several people mention ‘ _ lucky hand, _ ’ ‘ _ well played _ ,’ and one man who says Dean ‘ _ has balls of steel’ _ . It all goes over Castiel’s head. 

Dean reaches him and pulls him in for a devastating kiss. When he pulls back, his face is flushed with happiness that Castiel knows can’t entirely be down to the kiss, but he grins back anyway. 

“I did it,” Dean breathes. “I got to the winner’s table!”

“I knew you could do it,” Castiel says, aware that there are a great many people watching them. He leans in for another kiss. This time when they break apart, Dean leaves his arm where it rests around Castiel’s waist and they walk like that towards the elevator. 

The door to their room closes behind them and Castiel pulls away as he always does. This time though, Dean doesn’t let him. He pulls him in for another kiss. This one lingers and when he steps back he’s still looking as happy as he did downstairs. 

“Winner’s table,” Castiel says quickly before he kisses him again. And again.

_ And again _ . 

They should probably at least look at who else has made the table. 

Dean claps his hands together and makes for the minifridge. “Winner’s table and the office gets my buy-in back.” His eyes land on the slice of pie Castiel had ordered for him. “ _ And _ I get pie.”

It’s not that Castiel isn’t happy or wants to burst Dean’s very obvious bubble, but he does wonder…

“I thought your buy-in went on expenses.” 

Dean shrugs as he pours them both something dark and smooth from the fridge. “It does, but it always saves Bobby the paperwork if I bring it back.” 

“Oh.” There’s something about that specific piece of knowledge that warms Castiel to his core. 

Dean hands Castiel a glass of what is probably whiskey. 

“I know, I know,” Dean says, before Castiel can protest. “Just one. To celebrate.” He raises the glass. “To the river.” 

Castiel raises his glass and clinks it against Dean’s. “The river.” He downs the relatively small shot and turns the empty glass over in his hand. “Which river?” he asks. 

Dean almost chokes on his drink. “Seriously? You’ve been watching me play for how long?”

Castiel tilts his head.

“Alright, sit down,” Dean commands, pointing to the table. “I’m going to teach you how to play poker.” 

“Just because I don’t appreciate it at your level, doesn’t mean I don’t know how to play,” Castiel mutters, but he sits. Maybe they’ll look at the table plan tomorrow. 

Dean pulls out a deck of cards from his bag and sits down opposite him. 

“You carry a deck of cards with you?” Castiel asks as Dean starts to shuffle.

“I’m undercover as a professional poker player, Cas. Yeah, I carry my own cards.” 

He deals out a hand each and places three cards face up between them. The third card he holds up and says, “This is a playing card. Look. It’s the three of spades. It has the number three on it and-” Dean breaks off laughing at the look of pure disdain Castiel shoots him. “Okay, okay. This is the flop,” he says with a gesture and then he’s off explaining poker terms. 

Castiel doesn’t mind. He actually learns something. He hardly has cause to use such knowledge in his particular area of the job, but it’s still interesting. By far, the greatest benefit is watching Dean Winchester explain something he enjoys, between mouthfuls of pie. 

He is totally at ease with himself and he keeps looking up to see if Castiel is following. Castiel watches him with a small smile, wondering if he knows how much he wants to lean over the table and kiss him. He doesn’t know what’s changed between them but  _ something _ has and now he knows that if he were to kiss Dean, Dean would kiss him back. 

“You think you can handle a few rounds of this?” Dean asks when he’s finished his explanation. 

“I can only hope to maintain my dignity,” Castiel deadpans but then Dean laughs, long and hard. 

Castiel loves that sound. 

“Alright, let’s see how you do.” Dean says when he’s calmed down. 

He deals a round. Neither of them have money on hand to bet and Dean’s not so committed to his cover that he’s carrying around an entire set of poker chips in his luggage. They end up using whatever they find. Castiel bets his earpiece. Dean puts down one of his cufflinks but he doesn’t move to take the earpiece when he wins the first hand. 

As Dean takes the cards back to shuffle them, Castiel shrugs off his suit jacket and hangs it on the bottom of the chair. 

“Whoa!” Dean grins. “Didn’t know you wanted to play  _ that _ kind of poker.” 

It takes Castiel a moment to realise what he means. He rolls his eyes. “It’s warm in here, Dean.” 

“Uh-huh, sure it is. Wanna go again?” Dean asks and this time there’s an unmistakable glint in his eye. 

Castiel gestures for him to deal as a thought forms in his mind. 

He loses the next hand too. Anticipation hangs over them as Dean looks at Castiel expectantly. He looks as though it would be too much to wish for. Too much to hope for. He would never be so lucky as to-

Castiel unbuttons his shirt and hangs it over his jacket. He meets Dean’s gaze evenly. Dean is still smiling but there’s something darker there now. His eyes flicker to Castiel’s lips, perhaps unconsciously, but Castiel has to hold himself back from just diving across the table. 

“Again?” Dean asks, his voice a touch lower than it had been a moment ago. 

He deals another hand and Castiel maintains a poker face. He wasn’t ever lying to Dean. He doesn’t play poker at the same level as Dean and the game holds no interest for him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how to play. 

Something which Dean finds out when he’s lost his shirt, shoes and both his socks. 

“I had no idea you were such a shark, Cas,” he says. “It should be you down there, not me.” 

Castiel waves him off. He doesn’t want to say that he was simply remarkably lucky with his cards and in any case, he’s the one reduced to just his underwear. Besides, he really does find the game dull. His eyes wander to Dean’s bare chest. Mostly dull, anyway. 

“Last hand?” Castiel asks. They should have finished a long time ago. 

“All or nothing?” Dean offers. 

Castiel shrugs as though it doesn’t matter to him.

It doesn’t. He already knows they’ve both won. 

Dean deals the cards. Castiel watches ‘ _ the flop’, ‘the turn _ ,’ and ‘ _ the river, _ ’ all words which meant little to him before this evening. They don’t mean much now but he at least understands the concept. 

“Alright,” Dean says. “Moment of truth.” 

Castiel sighs and turns his cards over. “Pocket sixes.” He reaches for his boxers, knowing he’s lost. Dean’s probably got something far greater in his hand. 

“Fold,” Dean says just as Castiel’s fingers brush against the waistband. 

Castiel looks up in surprise. “You can’t beat a pair of sixes? You’ve won a seat at the winner’s table with a jackpot of two million dollars at stake and you can’t beat a pair of sixes?”

Dean shrugs and places his cards face down. Dean never shows his cards unless he has to. 

“That’s why they call it a game of chance.” Dean stands up, stretching just so that Castiel can watch every flex of his muscles. He makes a show of stripping and Castiel’s restraint lasts until Dean’s pants hit the floor. He practically jumps across the space between them. Dean is already waiting to catch him, their lips colliding as they fall into the bed together. 

“Wait, wait,” Dean laughs. He tries to push Castiel away, totally at odds with the way he kisses him. “You won, lemme get-” He manages to shimmy out of his boxers, kicking them aside with one foot. “There,” he says with a triumphant smile. He lies back on his elbows, completely and gloriously naked. 

Castiel drinks in the sight of him, committing every facet to memory. This is a view he never ever wants to forget. Then Dean beckons him forward, their lips meet and Castiel is lost. 

When he wakes a little while later, light is only just starting to filter through the blinds. He is lying in the bed, pressed against Dean’s back, his leg hooked around his waist. 

Utilising all of his stealth skills, Castiel disentangles himself from Dean without disturbing him. He quietly picks his way across the room and retrieves a bottle of water from the fridge. Dean snores and rolls over, but he doesn’t wake. 

The cards are still where they left them, next to their empty plates. Dean’s cards are still face down. Castiel looks over at Dean and then back to the cards. He turns them over and smiles. Flush. He let Castiel win. 

Castiel looks back at Dean, gorgeous even in sleep. He puts down the bottle and checks the time. He could get up right now and go for a swim. The alarm will ring soon enough. 

Instead, he turns the alarm off in advance and climbs back into the bed. He wraps himself around Dean, exactly as he’d woken up and lets the steady rhythm of Dean’s chest lull him back to sleep. 


	11. Chapter 11

Castiel wakes at a more reasonable time when Dean stirs. Or perhaps, it is Castiel who moves first and wakes Dean. They’re facing each other, Castiel’s leg still flung around Dean’s hip and Dean’s hand resting on the small of his back. They wake, looking into each other’s eyes and Dean immediately brings his hand up to stroke Castiel’s cheek. 

“Morning, sunshine,” he says. His voice is still tired but his eyes are already alert and bright. 

Castiel leans in to kiss him. It’s easily done. He barely has to move. And to think, he had reservations about sharing a bed with Dean Winchester. What a fool he was. Dean’s lips are soft and gentle, a contrast with the way his stubble is coarse against Castiel’s. Neither of them mind. 

Dean’s lips part and Castiel swipes them with his tongue. He should probably have brushed his teeth first, but there’s no way he’s getting out of this bed. From the way Dean inches closer to him, it’s clear he isn’t going to either. 

What starts as soft becomes heated in no time. Dean’s hands move to cup Castiel’s ass, grabbing him almost roughly, going for his throat when Castiel throws his head back and hisses. It seems impossible that he’s already hard. Haven’t they worked this out of their system yet? 

Apparently not. Dean rolls and takes Castiel with him, letting him straddle him. Castiel looks down and slowly brings his lips nearer to kiss him as he grinds his hips down. Dean moans, his hands flying to Castiel’s hips to hold him there as they rut against each other. 

“Cas,” Dean breathes. His name on Dean’s lips is a prayer. It brings him to a stop, looking down into those beautiful, green eyes that pin him in their intensity. Castiel slides off and rolls Dean onto his stomach, kissing the expanse of his shoulders. This way Dean won’t see the emotion in Castiel’s eyes. He won’t see that Castiel never wants to let this go. He should never have allowed himself to get this involved. It’ll break his heart when Dean walks away. But with every breathy sigh of satisfaction as Castiel trails kisses down his back, he dares to hope. Maybe Dean won’t walk away. 

_Maybe…_

He reaches for the bottle of lube on the nightstand. He’d made fun of Dean for bringing it. He’d said it showed how little care he had for the job.

He’s so grateful Dean brought it.

Castiel coats his fingers and tosses the bottle aside but not too far. He’ll be needing it soon enough. He brings his lips to Dean’s back as he brings his fingers to his ass, gently circling Dean’s hole.

“C’mon, Cas,” he says. He looks back at Castiel over his shoulder and the look in his eyes is breathtaking enough. 

“So impatient,” Castiel whispers but he can’t help but indulge.

As he gently works one finger in, Dean’s fingers claw into the bedcovers, his groan muffled by the pillow he drops his face into. 

There is a litany of praise on the tip of Castiel’s tongue. He wants to tell Dean how beautiful he is, not just like this but in general. He wants to tell him how wonderfully responsive his body is and how Castiel wants nothing more than to spend every morning, every evening and moment in between learning how best to make it sing. He wants to say so much, but he doesn’t know if Dean will want to hear it. 

So he says nothing. He kisses, he licks, he bites, but he says nothing. He adds a second finger, a third and Dean is practically growling in frustration.

“ _Cas!_ ”

A phone buzzes but they ignore it. There’s nothing happening that can’t wait. Not when Castiel retrieves a condom and the lube. Another buzz of another phone, or is it the same one? It hardly seems important as Castiel sinks into Dean’s welcoming body. The sounds Dean makes are glorious. The sounds they make together are a chorus.

They take a moment for Dean to adjust, for Castiel to get comfortable and then he’s thrusting into him, their moans mingling with the sound of flesh slapping. The buzzing of a phone cuts over it but this time it’s persistent. 

It takes a moment for Castiel to think with his actual brain. “We missed check-in,” he says, breathlessly. He stills. He doesn’t want to pull out, not with Dean so tight and warm around him, but they have a job to do. 

Dean reaches over to the nightstand, doing his best not to disturb Castiel’s position. He grabs the ringing phone. 

“It’ll be Sam, I’ll get rid of him. _Don’t stop_ ,” he hisses as Castiel takes a minute to adjust his angle and find _that_ spot. “Little busy, Sam,” Dean says, voice tight as he brings the phone to his ear. He almost drops it and not because of what Castiel is doing. “Oh- Bobby!”

Castiel should stop. He should stop. 

He isn’t going to stop. 

“No, sir. Sorry, sir. No we’re good, we’re-” Dean bites down a strangled cry, “ _-good._ ”

Castiel moves his hands to grip Dean’s hips, driving into him at an almost punishing speed, trying to hold back the sounds that desperately want to burst from his chest. He’s not going to call Dean’s name right now. He’s not going to do that. 

“Feathers? Oh- Sorry. He’s right there- _right there!”_

Obligingly, Castiel keeps his position, feeling Dean tremble beneath him. He can hear Bobby shouting down the phone and even if he can’t make out the words, he knows they’re in trouble. They missed check-in. If Bobby knew _why,_ they’d be off the mission. 

Dean clearly isn’t expected to respond to Bobby chewing him out, but he throws out the occasional generic response. 

“Yes! _Yes!”_

_“Uh huh-”_

Then, just when Castiel is on the verge of coming, he hears Dean say, “Yeah, just a second, sir-” The phone gets slammed into the bed as Dean buries his face into the pillow and comes untouched with a muffled cry. 

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel sighs, following him over the edge. He drops down, pressing his chest against Dean’s back, kissing the back of his neck, his shoulders, anywhere he can reach. 

Dean takes a breath. Then another. He doesn’t sound at all okay when he picks up the phone again, but it doesn’t stop him. “Sorry, sir. You were saying?” 

Again, Castiel can just hear the vague sound of Bobby chewing them out. He lets his fingers drift along Dean’s arm, still pressing gentle kisses to his ear. 

“Yes, sir. ” Dean cuts the call and tosses the phone onto the nightstand. 

Castiel rolls off him, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, thoroughly satisfied. 

“What did Bobby say?” Castiel asks, the mission catching up to him again. 

“He’s pissed but if we get our reports in and bring down Michael, he won’t mind.” Dean leans over to kiss him. “You get breakfast, I’m going to shower.” 

Castiel nods and lets him go. He takes his time getting up, his body refusing to be rushed. He ties off the condom and throws it into the bin. He tilts his head and between the sheets and the trash, he wonders what housekeeping are going to think of them. The bedclothes are in dire need of attention. The sheets are streaked with patches of semen and he knows they’re going to have to have them changed before they sleep on them again. 

One of the laptops is blinking. With a sigh, he moves to check it. He might as well just before he calls down for breakfast. Just to make sure it isn’t anything important. 

It’s important. 

It’s _very_ important.

“Dean!” Castiel calls, hammering on the bathroom door. 

He hears cursing from inside as though Dean was taken by surprise. A few moments later, Dean appears in the door, his hair still lathered with shampoo, dripping water all over the floor. 

“We have movement in the VIP suite,” Castiel says, without preamble. “Michael’s here.” 

“I’ll be right out,” Dean says, disappearing back into the bathroom to rinse off. 

Castiel drops to the laptop and starts pulling up logs, his eyes darting across several different tabs, trying to determine when it was that Michael had arrived. 

“What’ve we got?” Dean asks. He drops into the seat beside Castiel and looks over his shoulder at the screen. He doesn’t try to interfere. Castiel has known other agents who would attempt to assert themselves at this juncture, to take point so that when the time comes, they’ll be the one to get the credit for the success of the mission. 

Dean doesn’t. He is happy for Castiel to continue and show him what he’s found. 

“Michael arrived an hour ago. He’s checked in under the name ‘Adam Milligan’.”

“His husband?” Dean asks as he reaches for one of the folders they actually keep a paper copy of. “Is he here?” 

“No, Michael’s alone.” 

“We got eyes on him?” 

A few clicks and Castiel brings up the camera feed from Michael’s room. 

Dean lets out a long breath and sinks back into his chair. “That’s him?” 

“That’s him.” 

“Wow. We finally got him.” 

The man in question, Michael, is sitting on the couch watching television. The camera in that room is set behind him so they can only see the back of his dark hair but it’s closer than they’ve ever gotten before. 

Castiel closes both of the laptops and slides one of the spare phones over to Dean. 

“What’re you doing?” Dean asks with visible confusion. 

Castiel starts packing up their equipment into a suitcase. “That phone has all the feeds on it. I’m going to hide all this,” he gestures to their less than standard vacation baggage. “Housekeeping can come in and you make sure that Michael doesn’t go anywhere. He shouldn’t. He hasn’t come all this way just to disappear a few hours after checking in.” 

Dean’s phone starts to buzz. 

“That’ll be Sam wondering why the link’s gone down,” Castiel says without having to look at the screen. “It’s probably easier if you tell him we had a fight and I’m threatening to move rooms. It’ll be more palatable than the truth.” His eyes dart to the bed that so desperately needs to be changed now and Dean catches on immediately. 

He picks up the phone and forces his face into neutral before he answers. 

“Sam?”

Even though Castiel can’t hear the words, he can still hear Sam asking what’s wrong. Castiel ignores them, packing away as he intended. He gives the room one last sweep, but there is nothing left that looks untoward. Only clothes, toiletries, the bottle of lubricant that Castiel deftly tosses into a drawer. 

It’s just a normal hotel room. A normal hotel room belonging to two newlyweds who can’t keep their hands off each other. Some of their clothes remain strewn on the floor around the bed.

Dean is still on the phone but he looks around the room and gives Castiel a thumbs up to confirm he can’t see anything out of place either. Castiel opens the door, slips off the ‘no service’ hanger and starts with the suitcase towards the car park. He knows Sam will be able to see him on the cameras so he forces his face into a scowl. To Sam, he’ll look like him and Dean have finally snapped, unable to occupy the same space for a moment longer. To everyone else he’ll just look like the honeymoon period has worn off. 

Outside, the valet asks if he can bring the car around, but Castiel doesn’t let anyone drive his car. He knows Dean doesn’t either but in Castiel’s case it’s purely because his car has been augmented with several _extra features_ he wouldn’t want an unknowing valet to activate. He knows that Dean just doesn’t like anyone touching his car. Castiel would expect nothing less from a man who took his own car as his codename. 

He drops the suitcase into the trunk of his Lincoln and slips into the driving seat. If anyone looks for him, they’ll find a man debating whether or not to cut his vacation short and drive off. He takes out his phone and pulls up the security footage from the front of the hotel. He wants to know which car Michael arrived in. He isn’t expecting Michael to elude them. Not both him and Dean, but they’ve never gotten this close before and Castiel doesn’t want to take any chances. 

He’s already got trackers in every car belonging to Uriel, Bartholomew, and anyone even remotely associated with Michael. 

Michael has a driver, which isn’t surprising in the least. The car approaches the hotel, Michael steps out, and the car drives off to park without the services of the valet. Not that it matters particularly. Castiel can still track it with the cameras and locate where it’s parked. The driver has long since gone to find his room with the other hired goons. 

Castiel commits the location of the car to memory and slips his phone away. He won’t look at it again until he’s back inside. He gets out of the car and starts pacing. He looks frustrated, he kicks at the ground and sometimes he turns back for his car as if trying to convince himself that he is actually going to leave. 

It’s easy to lose himself in thoughts. There is, of course, only one thing on his mind. 

_Dean_.

So maybe Dean doesn’t hate him. If he does, he has a very strange way of showing it. When this is over, he’s going to ask Dean if he’d like to go for a drink and not just because they’ve hardly touched the stuff while they’ve been working. He’s going to ask Dean out for a drink and maybe, Dean will say yes. 

He _hopes_ Dean will say yes.

Castiel actually passes Michael’s car twice before he kneels to tie his shoelace, slipping the tracker onto the underside of the car. He paces for a little while longer before he finally seems to come to a decision, retrieves his suitcase and stomps reluctantly back to the room. 

The room is clean. The bed is freshly made and turned down. There is a paper bag waiting on the table. Castiel places the suitcase beside it and takes out his phone, going over every millimetre of the room in case a bug has been placed. The room is clean in more ways than one. 

It doesn’t take him long to set up their equipment again. He double-checks his phone and sees from the locator that Dean has set himself up at the bar nearest the lobby, no doubt watching to see if Michael comes or goes. A glance at the feed shows that Michael hasn’t left his room. 

He turns his attention to the bag and sees that Dean has left him breakfast. The thought makes his heart soar.

He thinks Dean will say yes. 


	12. Chapter 12

“Is he  _ still _ there?” Dean asks. He looks over Castiel’s shoulder in a gesture that’s becoming quite commonplace. He sits next to Castiel but slightly behind him. That way, he has to lean over him, his breath warming the back of Castiel’s neck. Dean insists it makes it easier to see the screen but Castiel knows he could see it just as well without getting so close. 

Not that he minds. 

Castiel maximises the feed of Michael’s lounging area, and yes, he is still there. 

Given that this is what they’ve been waiting on, what they’ve been working towards for years, the day that Michael appears is surprisingly uneventful. He doesn’t leave the suite. He watches a movie, he talks to his guard, he makes a phone call (presumably to his husband). He does nothing to suggest that he is anything other than a man on vacation. 

Zachariah, Uriel, and the others have all visited him and spoken of nothing more interesting than how Michael likes his suite. Castiel brings one of the headsets to his ears so he can listen in on the conversation between Bartholomew and Michael. 

“What are they talking about?” Dean asks. He’s quiet, even though the bugs only work one way. There’s no way Michael will be able to overhear them. 

Castiel resists the urge to massage his temples. “Fragrances. For men,” he adds when Dean looks at him. “Apparently Bartholomew recommended one that Michael has purchased his husband for Christmas.” 

There is a beat of silence between them.

“That’s Michael, right?” Dean asks. “The same Michael that Sam has been chasing for years. One of the most dangerous guys in the world, and he’s talking about  _ perfume _ ?”

“I believe it’s called cologne,” Castiel deadpans but he can’t argue the sentiment. 

“You know Bobby’s already started locking down the area? For that guy? The guy who’s talking about  _ cologne _ with the guy who launders his money.” 

There’s an answer on the tip of Castiel’s tongue but before he can speak, Dean’s phone starts buzzing against the table. Dean’s expression lights the room. 

“ _ Finally _ ,” he breathes, grabbing the phone and stepping away so that Castiel can work. “Anna?” 

Castiel should be watching Michael but his eyes are drawn to Dean. Dean who looks like he’s received the first good news since the mission began. Dean, who paces with an animated smile, talking into the phone excitedly. 

Talking to  _ Anna _ .

It has been a while since Anna has been in the field. Her last mission had gone spectacularly wrong and Dean had been dispatched to extract her. Castiel remembers it well. 

_ Everyone _ remembers it well. 

Every agent at headquarters had gathered in the operations room, watching with bated breath as the metaphorical vultures circled one of their own. Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief when Dean Winchester strolled onto the camera feed and reached Anna. Everyone whooped and whistled when she had kissed Dean.  _ Almost _ everyone. 

It had been for the case. Castiel had known that. But they hadn’t  _ stopped _ kissing. They’d fallen into a side room, away from danger, both of them panting a little over their mics. 

“What was that for?” Everyone had heard Dean ask when their kiss finally ended

“You know… Our last night on earth… All that,” Anna had replied. 

The last thing anyone had heard before they both cut their comms was Dean flirtatiously saying that she’d stolen his best line. All non-essential personnel had been hurried from the room at that point. Everyone knew what was going on, even if they didn’t witness it. 

And now Dean is on the phone to her. To  _ Anna _ . Smiling and laughing, taking in everything she says with interest. 

Castiel is a fool. 

Dean isn’t going to say yes if Castiel asks him for a drink. Dean is going to laugh in his face. This is just something he does to amuse himself on missions. How many others have there been? 

Had the others thought they were special, or had they known it was just part of the Dean Winchester charm? Had they known they were as much a diversion as poker or pie? What an idiot Castiel had been to think that Dean put as much stock into what they had as he did. The guy had hated him from the get go. Sleeping with him was probably just a more attractive way of channelling that energy.

“Thank you,” Dean says into the phone with such feeling, Castiel feels his heart shatter a little. 

It shouldn’t matter this much that Dean wasn’t as invested as he was.

It shouldn’t.

It does.

Dean hangs up the phone and turns to Castiel. The grin that appeared on his face when he saw that Anna was calling is still there. 

“That was Anna,” he says unnecessarily. He waits for Castiel to react. His grin falters when he doesn’t. “Anna is-” he starts but Castiel cuts him off. 

“I’m aware of Anna.” 

He doesn’t mean to sound so cold. Or maybe he did. 

Dean can sense that something’s wrong. It would be impossible for him to miss, even if he wasn’t an expert in reading people. 

“Right,” he replies. All traces of the smile he’d been wearing is gone. His guard is up. When he speaks, it’s to make a report to a colleague. “Sam had her looking into the other players. The ones who dropped out? She caught up with our regional champ and it turns out Zachariah’s been bribing, paying off, and intimidating all the best players. Some of them got beat up pretty badly.” 

“Why host a tournament of such a calibur only to remove the better players?” Castiel wonders aloud. He turns the question over in his head while he watches Michael move around his suite. “We should get ready,” he says, almost sharply. 

Dean glances at his watch. It’s a little early to start preparing for the evening ahead but not so early that it’s an outlandish suggestion. 

“Are you coming down to watch me tonight?” Dean asks. His voice is careful. Stiff.

“Of course,” Castiel replies. “I wouldn’t want to compromise our cover.” 

Dean scowls. “Just stay here and watch a movie then. Don’t go out of your way.”

This is familiar ground. The snipes. The barbs. It’s familiar but it isn’t comforting.

“I’m taking a shower,” Castiel says, ignoring the invitation to argue. 

Dean watches him as he grabs his suit and steps into the bathroom. Castiel doesn’t slam the door behind him but it’s close. He doesn’t need a shower either but he doesn’t want to be around Dean right now. 

It hurts too much. 

It shouldn’t hurt this much.

It shouldn’t hurt at all.

He tries to lose himself in the rhythm of getting ready. He doesn’t think about how Dean’s hair smells of the complimentary shampoo. He puts any thoughts he has had of what he could do to Dean in this very shower far from his mind.

Castiel grits his teeth and closes his eyes harshly against the stream of water. 

‘ _ Stop. _ ’ 

He washes his hair, rinses and wraps himself in a towel. Drops of water fall from his hair into his face and he wipes them away in frustration.

It was his own fault. He allowed himself to get too close. He should never have kissed Dean Winchester and he should  _ never  _ have fallen into bed with him.

He brushes his teeth. The mirror is fogged from the heat of the shower so he can’t see himself. He’s glad of that. 

He should never have kissed Dean. 

He dresses in the bathroom, taking far longer than he needs to. His hand hovers over the door handle before he opens it. If Dean isn’t ready then Castiel will wait for him downstairs. He doesn’t want to spend any more time than is absolutely necessary with him. Especially not in the room with  _ the _ bed. 

The bed they’d made their own. 

Dean is dressed and ready when Castiel emerges. It’s unfair how attractive he is. The gnawing in Castiel’s gut worsens. 

“Comms tonight,” Dean says. He points to where he’s already laid out Castiel’s earpiece. Castiel nods and slips it into his ear. Now that Michael’s here, they shouldn’t be out of contact. 

“Wings reporting in,” Castiel says without looking at Dean. 

“Impala on silent,” Dean replies. There’s a click over the comms to show that he’s turned his mic off. 

There’s a moment where they both check they have everything they need, both deliberately avoiding each other. Dean waits by the door.

“You don’t have to come down. One of us should probably watch the screens for Michael.” 

Castiel tilts his head. “In the event of an active target situation, all agents in the field should maintain a field of vision where possible.” He’s citing regulations. One argument with Dean and he’s falling back into the role of the ‘robot’. The wall is up. He should never have let it down. 

Dean says something under his breath that Castiel can’t catch. It sounds like a curse. Dean opens the door and gestures that Castiel should go, but there isn’t anything gentlemanly about it. He pulls the door behind them and they make for the elevator. They don’t hold hands. They don’t even walk in step. And to think they’d had to fake a fight earlier.

The tournament room is buzzing with a low hum of excitement, but Castiel can’t feel it. He feels like he’s watching it all, like it’s something entirely separate to him. People congratulate him on Dean’s success in getting this far, while Castiel forces a smile and tries to look adoringly at his  _ husband _ .

His  _ husband _ avoids his eye.

Even though they arrived early, it feels like no time at all passes before the chime rings out, calling the players to the table. As ever, Dean finds Castiel at the rope. He isn’t at ease as he has been. He holds himself stiffly, but still he steps into Castiel’s space. He inclines his head, the invitation clear. 

“For luck?” he whispers. 

Castiel takes a deliberate, measured step away from him. “You don’t need luck.” 

He doesn’t watch Dean take his seat. Instead, he makes for the bar, regretting that he can’t order something stronger than water. The floor quiets as the compere announces the rules. Castiel only vaguely listens. 

Winners table… Eight players down to one… No more buy-ins… 

It’s only when he mentions that there will be no play the following evening that Castiel turns, but Dean doesn’t look surprised. Dean’s eyes are on the vacant seat opposite him. The seat where Zachariah should be. Castiel scans the room but there’s no sign of him. 

The compere continues. “Mr. Adler has given up his seat and will be replaced by Mr. Milligan-” 

Dean and Castiel find each other’s gaze. Neither of them had expected this. Dean clicks the comms, alerting Sam or Bobby or whoever is watching them from the office to what’s happening. Assuming anybody could have missed it. 

Michael steps up to the table. Castiel hadn’t even seen where he’d come from. How did he get into the room? He shakes Dean’s hand and the hand of the player beside him before he sits, rearranging Zachariah’s chips into his preferred position. 

Everything continues as normal. As though one of the most wanted men in the world hasn’t sat down in a room full of people, casually posting a blind and calling for a waiter. 

Dean plays as normal while Castiel checks the room again. There’s a side door, Michael must have come through that. He makes a mental note of it so they can ensure he can’t disappear through it when they come to take him down. 

They can’t take him down now. Not in a room full of people without any preparation. They’ve had nothing more than a photograph of the guy for years and now he’s sitting within spitting distance of one of their finest agents, playing cards as though it’s the most normal thing in the world. 

It takes some time for the adrenaline to fade. Castiel watches Michael, waiting for something to happen, but nothing does. Zachariah shows his face on the floor at one point, watching the game. Several of his associates sit at the bar, occasionally casting glances over at Michael, but nobody does anything. Castiel turns his attention to listening into the game through Dean’s comms but nobody says anything that isn’t related to the game at hand. 

Dean is at least doing well. He manages to knock out one of the weaker players in the first few rounds, adding a sizable amount of chips to his stack. Michael congratulates him on a good play but anything else is poker jargon that Castiel doesn’t understand despite Dean’s lesson. 

But then, it wasn’t as though Castiel had been paying particular attention to the cards. 

He forces his mind from the thought before he starts remembering Dean stretched beneath him, Dean’s lips on his neck, Dean’s grip on his hips… 

Catching the eye of the bartender, Castiel gestures to a drink on the menu. It’s stronger than water. 

It’s  _ much _ stronger than water, but if he doesn’t order it aloud then no one can pull him up for it. He never drinks on the job but he’s allowing himself this exception. They have eyes on Michael and they won’t be able to make a move on him tonight. He isn’t about to do anything that might harm Dean, not in a room full of people even if Dean gave him a reason to, which he hasn’t. He’s just another player at the table. What comments pass between them are limited to their bets and calls. It’s all painfully boring. 

There is no reason for Castiel to mingle with the other spouses even if he could summon the enthusiasm to put on the act of a proud husband. They hardly need to gather intel on Michael when he’s sitting  _ right there _ . He can’t even pass the time watching Dean in his element. Castiel doesn’t  _ want _ to watch Dean. 

He doesn’t want to think about how utterly delicious Dean looks in his suit. He doesn’t want to remember how delicious he looks out of the suit. He should never have compromised his feelings like this. He used the mission to get close to Dean and now he’s regretting it.

He just didn’t think it would hurt this much.

_ Why  _ does it hurt this much?

The bartender puts a tall glass laden with fruit in front of Castiel. Castiel takes a sip and remembers to send over a glass that is  _ actually _ water to Dean. He drinks his own far too quickly but he doesn’t care. 

The drink is strong, stronger seeing as he skipped dinner. The Castiel who gets up at five in the morning to swim and stretch would never have skipped dinner. He’d always made sure he was in peak condition for whatever the mission would throw at him. He’d never have taken a drink on the job. 

That Castiel had never kissed Dean Winchester.  _ That _ Castiel had never been lulled back to sleep by the steady rhythm of Dean’s chest.  _ That _ Castiel had never had anything more interesting than swimming and stretching to wake up to. 

Dean is still at the table, still beautiful, still playing. Castiel plays with his empty glass and makes a decision. Dean is safe, Michael isn’t going anywhere and he still has his comms. He doesn’t look at Dean as he leaves the bar. He doesn’t want to think about Dean as he steps into the elevator that will return him to their room, but he can’t help it. 

He can work from the room, Castiel tells himself as he kicks off his shoes and takes off his jacket. There are reports to write. Plans to be made. There’s plenty he can do from the room. 

He doesn’t do any of it. Dean had told him to watch a movie, so he’ll watch a movie. He turns the laptop around so he can’t see it before sitting on the bed and turning the tv on. With the monitor turned, he can’t see Dean. It doesn’t help. The image of Dean is seared into his mind. He’ll likely never forget it. He clicks on the first movie without caring what it is, his mind too preoccupied with Dean and why it all hurts so much. 

He doesn’t watch the movie. It happens in front of him but when it finishes, Castiel can’t remember what it was called or recall any of the details. 

He changes into something more comfortable. Castiel has no intention of returning to the poker floor so there’s no point in keeping his suit on. He calls down for dinner. He’s not hungry but he knows he should eat something. When it arrives, he sits back on the bed and turns on another movie. 

He doesn’t pay any attention to this one either. 

When the credits roll and he’s finished with dinner, Castiel glances at his watch and frowns. Dean should be back by now. Maybe the game has gone on longer than usual. Maybe Dean has found his way to the bar. He could check of course. It would only require a glance at the feed but Castiel still can’t bring himself to do it. 

He doesn’t want to see Dean sitting at the bar. At best, he’s avoiding returning to the room. At worst, he’d be flirting with one of the staff. It’s not a reasonable line of thought, but then, Castiel isn’t feeling particularly reasonable. 

As though summoned by the thoughts, Castiel hears Dean’s keycard at the door. He turns away so he isn’t looking at the door when Dean opens it. He hasn’t been waiting for Dean. Dean’s an adult. He’s allowed to be as late as he wants. Whatever’s been going on between them these last few days is well and truly over. The most Castiel could expect is a check-in so he knows to keep his eyes on Michael. Not that Castiel has been keeping an eye on anything tonight. 

He hears Dean stumble through the door. It seems Castiel isn’t the only one who indulged tonight. He turns to face Dean, something biting on his tongue but it dies when he sees him. 

“ _ Dean? _ ” 

Castiel had expected him to come back a little worse for wear. He had not expected the beginnings of a black eye, the busted lip, the bruises along his jaw or the bloodied nose. Dean ignores him, making for the bathroom and letting out a grunt when he sees himself in the mirror. 

“Dean,” Castiel says, following him into the bathroom. There are half a dozen questions raging in his mind.  _ ‘Who did this?’ ‘Are you okay?’ ‘What happened?’ ‘Michael?’  _ but when he speaks it’s to ask, “Why didn’t you call me?”

Dean glares at him. “You left. It might have looked a little weird if you’d somehow known I was in trouble and showed up.” He dabs at the cut on his lip and winces. “ _ Son of a bitch. _ ”

“Let me,” Castiel says, but Dean pulls away before he even takes a step toward him. “You’re hurt-”

“No shit, Sherlock.” 

Castiel steps back. He wants to help but Dean isn’t about to let him. He should never have left the bar. He should have checked in when he thought Dean hadn’t come back at the expected time. He should have been there to stop this from happening. He’d broken the rules and Dean had paid the price. 

“Did Michael do this?” 

“Michael?” Dean asks, dabbing at his lip again. “No. This was Zach. He’s trying to get into his boss’ good books by taking out all the better players. I told them to shove it.”

There’s a bruise on Dean’s jaw, right in Castiel’s eyeline. Unconsciously, he takes a step towards him. Dean jerks away again.

“Weren’t you the one quoting regs at me earlier? What happened to keeping a field of vision?” Dean’s lip stops bleeding, though it still looks angry. He wipes away the blood from his nose. 

Castiel just watches. Helpless. 

Dean opens his shirt and groans. There are bruises forming on his side. Castiel has to stop himself from reaching out to help. Dean looks over at him, as though surprised to find Castiel is still in the room. 

“What? You want to be friends again? I don’t know what game you’ve got going on but I’m not playing.” He turns his attention back to the mirror, trying to clean himself up. 

“Sorry,” Castiel says, leaving him to it. 

He can’t help. Even if he could, Dean doesn’t want his help. He retrieves the first-aid kit from his bag and leaves it on the side in case Dean decides to use it. Then, he sits at the table and looks back at the monitor. Michael is in his suite, Zachariah and everyone else are either at the bar or in their rooms. It’s just a normal night for them. 

There’s no game tomorrow. Plenty of time for Castiel to write his report and mention how he broke protocol. Even if they get Michael after this, he’s due a reprimand. 

He taps a few buttons and rewinds the feed. The game ends and Dean shakes hands with the other players. Castiel sees him scan the room, no doubt looking for him. Dean is halfway to the elevator when Zachariah and two of his goons follow. They take Dean outside, into one of the blind spots where there are no cameras. When Zachariah and his guys return, Dean isn’t with them. It’s another few minutes before Dean stumbles back into the hotel, falling into the elevator as he clutches his side.

“Enjoying the show?” Dean asks from behind him. 

“I should have been there,” Castiel says. “I should never have left the bar. I broke protocol and you got hurt. I’m-”

“Save it,” Dean opens the first-aid kit and pulls out a cold pack. He cracks it easily and holds it to his jaw. His phone starts buzzing in his pocket. Dean reaches for it, glances at the screen and tosses it to Castiel. “You can deal with this. I’m going to bed.” 

The caller ID only says the office is calling. It’s either Bobby or Sam. Either way, Castiel is going to have to explain what happened. Either way, it’s not going to be pretty. He still finds himself hoping for Sam. 

The phone rings insistently. It’ll ring until he picks up. Dean is already getting into bed, ignoring the sound. 

Castiel takes a breath and answers. 

“Wings-”

“ _ What the hell happened?! _ ” Bobby shouts before Castiel can even finish the call-sign.

Castiel sighs, rubs at his eyes, and starts by admitting that he had left Dean in a situation he should never have been left in. He’s not sure how long Bobby shouts at him for. The word ‘idjit’ is thrown out a few times. And ‘dumbass’. He doesn’t need to say anything. Bobby saw him leave the bar, he saw him return to the room, he saw Dean being taken outside and the state in which Dean returned. 

Castiel looks over at Dean and wonders if he can hear Bobby chewing him out, or if he really has gone to sleep. 

Bobby doesn’t let up. Castiel promises that he isn’t going to make the same mistake again. Bobby insists they maintain full comms in the field from now on and makes several colourful threats as to what he’ll do to both of them if they let each other out of their sight from now on. 

When Castiel hangs up, he can still hear Bobby’s voice ringing in his ears. 

Methodically, he checks the feeds. He sets the alerts that need to be set, he puts the phones on charge and makes sure the door is locked. He leaves nothing to chance. 

Dean doesn’t say anything when Castiel climbs into the bed beside him and turns off the lights. Castiel can tell from his breathing that he isn’t asleep. They’re so close that Castiel can feel the warmth of Dean’s body but there might as well be a chasm between them. It seems impossible that they’d woken up just that morning tangled in each other. 

“Dean-” Castiel says suddenly, as guilt forces the words out. “I’m sorry.”

There is a beat of silence. 

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Dean says. 

Castiel hears him roll over, turning his back to him. The chasm cannot be crossed. Castiel rolls over too, facing the other way and closes his eyes, hoping that  _ maybe _ he’ll fall asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

Dean wakes with a start, defending himself against blows that have long since been delivered. It takes him a moment to realise that the fight is over and he’s in bed. He’s okay. 

He keeps his eyes closed taking stock of how everything feels. His gut aches where they kicked him and he knows without looking that he’s going to have some nasty bruises there. 

His lip feels sore. He can feel the cut when he runs his tongue along it. His face hurts. He brings his hand to the bruise on his jaw and groans. He’s glad he doesn’t have to play any cards today. He can just sit in the room and wait for the aches to subside. There’s a mixer for all the players at the winner’s table over lunch, but it’s not mandatory. Dean can afford to skip it. His absence will be noted, but it’ll still raise less questions than the inevitable, ‘ _ what happened to you?’ _

He opens his eyes. He can feel the bruise around one eye but it’s not so bad that he can’t open it. His eyes fall on the nightstand. There’s a glass of water and a packet of painkillers waiting for him that could only have been put there by Cas. His stomach aches again but it’s got nothing to do with the beating. 

Dean pushes himself up and sits in the bed. There’s nothing to get up for for the moment. Cas is sitting at the desk, already dressed and typing something on one of the laptops, his eyes darting to the other screen at intervals. Dean reaches over and takes two ibuprofen. 

Cas’ fingers pause at the movement. “How are you feeling?” he asks without looking over. 

“I’ll live,” Dean says. He waits to see if Cas is going to say anything else but he doesn’t. He keeps his eyes on the screen and his fingers on the keys. Dean tries not to scowl but he can’t help it. He thought they were getting along, at last. He thought they were  _ more than _ getting along. He thought-

It doesn’t matter what he thought. 

They’d had fun or, at least, Dean _ thought _ they’d had fun and then Cas had gone straight back to hating him once Michael showed up. The mission takes priority. Dean knows that, but he really did think they’d gotten somewhere. He thought they were getting friendly. He’d realised Cas wasn’t all that bad. He’d thought Cas might have realised the same. 

Jokes on him. 

Once a robot, always a robot. The mission takes priority. 

_ Except… _ Dean frowns, glancing over at Cas. Except  _ it didn’t. _ If it did Cas would never have broken protocol. He would never have left the bar. 

“What the hell happened last night?” Dean asks. 

This time Cas looks over at him, visibly alarmed. “You don’t remember? Zachariah and two of his guys-”

“No, I mean, what the hell happened  _ with you? _ ” 

Cas holds Dean’s gaze. His eyes are so blue. Waking up to those eyes had been a gift. 

He presses a few keys and Dean’s phone buzzes with an incoming document. 

“It’s all there,” he says, returning to his work. 

With a frown, Dean picks up the phone. Cas has sent him his report on the evening and like he said it’s all there, complete with time indexes. 

‘ _ Target joined the tournament as per the rules of holding seats… Impala maintained his seat directly opposite… At 20:00 I returned to the room… Footage shows that Impala was taken outside- _ ’

Dean scrolls through it. “This doesn’t say shit.”

Cas checks something on his screen. “I sent you the report,” he states. “I broke protocol. I had a drink and I left you without backup. I-”

“Yeah, it says all that. It doesn’t say  _ why _ ,” Dean says, cutting him off before he can repeat what he’s written. 

“Why?” Cas asks as though Dean has suddenly gained the ability to speak in an unknown language. 

“Yeah.  _ Why? Why  _ did you have a drink?  _ Why _ did you leave the bar? You’re the one always going on about doing things by the book. What the hell happened to keeping a field of vision and all that shit?”

Cas looks away quickly. “I made a mistake,” he says, proving to Dean that  _ something _ happened. 

Dean is not having this conversation from the bed. 

He pulls himself up, wincing a little as his muscles protest but it’s not so bad now with the meds. He steps over to the table and drops into the chair next to Cas. He should get dressed. He should have breakfast and do all the other things the morning requires of him, but it looks like they’re doing this instead. 

“ _ You _ don’t make mistakes.” He isn’t flattering the guy. It’s the truth. “You don’t make mistakes and you don’t fail missions. I give you shit for it, but nobody knows the regs like you. So. What happened?”

Cas stops typing and rests his hands in his lap. He can’t quite meet Dean’s eye.

“You didn’t want me there. You told me to watch a movie, so I watched a movie.”

“ _ What? _ ” Dean asks, his brain working to catch up to an answer he didn’t expect. “I didn’t-  _ what? _ I only said that because you were acting so weird.”

“ _I_ was acting weird?” Cas looks like he has no idea what Dean is talking about. 

Okay, so this is happening. 

Dean scrubs a hand over his face instinctively. He regrets it when he catches one of the bruises there. “Come on, man. We had a good thing going, or at least I thought we did. Then Michael shows up and you don’t say a goddamn word to me.” 

“That had nothing to do with Michael,” Cas says, apparently catching up at last. 

“ _ Then what was it? _ ” Dean tries not to sound too exasperated but he can’t help it. He’d never in a million years dreamed that he’d ever get so close to Cas. He’d never in a million years dreamed that he’d want to. And then, just like that, it was gone. He hates fighting with Cas. He hates the sniping and the arguing especially now that he knows they could be making out instead. The waking up with Cas in his arms had been nice too. So had everything else, the whole ‘pretend husband’ thing they had going on that hadn’t quite gone away behind closed doors. 

Cas takes a breath which does nothing to reassure Dean for whatever’s coming. 

“Unlike you, I don’t usually go so far for the sake of my cover. I should never have allowed us to become intimate. It was beyond unprofessional but I let my personal feelings cloud my judgement. Then, you received the call from Anna and I was reminded that for you, this was only ever a cover. Just part of the mission. I was upset so I had a drink, left the bar, and put you in danger. It was a mistake and it won’t happen again.” 

Dean stares for what feels like a long time. He’s pretty sure if Cas looks at him, he’ll be able to see the wheels turning. He latches onto the part he understands the least, the part that seems safest right now. “What’s Anna got to do with any of this?”

“Dean, everyone is very well aware of what happened between you and Anna on her last mission.” 

_ This again?  _ Dean rolls his eyes. “Nothing happened with me and Anna. I went in. I got her out. She didn’t go back in the field. The end. You think I jump into bed with every agent I go undercover with?” That stings. He’d thought he and Cas might have had something, but it doesn’t look like it anymore. 

“Anna always-” Cas starts but Dean cuts him off. 

“We’re not talking about Anna. She’s an ex-partner not an ex-girlfriend, okay?”

“And what will I be after this mission?” Cas shoots back.

“ _ I don’t know! _ ” Dean yells before he knows what he’s saying. He doesn’t know what Cas will be. He doesn’t know what Cas  _ is _ . He didn’t realise until now just how badly he wanted Cas to be  _ something _ . He lowers his voice. “I- I don’t know.” 

They fall into an uncertain silence. Neither of them can look at each other. 

Dean thinks about telling him that he was going to ask him out when this was all over. Get the guy a drink. Maybe some dinner. He wondered if they’d work as well together off-duty as they did on. Would the spark still be there? That undeniable fire that had fuelled all those many arguments in the past but had burned into something much brighter these last few days. 

“Michael’s meeting is about to begin,” Cas says quietly, his eyes glancing up at the screen. “I should-” he gestures to the laptop. 

The conversation is over.

Dean nods. “Yeah. I should shower and…” He trails off simply because he doesn’t have the energy to finish his sentence. Cas is already back at work anyway. Dean uses the edge of the table to help himself up. He sets his sight on the bathroom and tries not to look at Cas. 

‘ _ What will I be at the end of this mission?’ _

Dean really doesn’t know.

He can at least distract himself with the mission. He checks himself in the mirror but he doesn’t look as bad as he thought he might. The bruises are already fading and by tomorrow evening, shouldn’t be obvious, especially in the low light of the poker floor. The bruises on his stomach don’t look as bad as they feel, but they’ll be covered anyway. 

Dean takes his time. He tells himself it’s because he’s being thorough, diligent. He needs to look over himself and make sure he’s okay. He knows it’s a lie. He’s avoiding Cas. 

He splashes his face with cold water and dries it with a towel. This was all so much easier when he hated the guy. 

He runs the shower for a long time before he actually steps into it. 

Just yesterday they’d missed check-in because they’d been hellbent on taking each other apart. There probably isn’t a floor in the resort they haven’t kissed on. Now, Dean is hiding in the bathroom so he doesn’t have to be near Cas. It would be funny how quickly things have changed between them if it didn’t leave Dean feeling so empty. 

When Dean finally leaves the bathroom, Cas is engrossed in his work. He doesn’t look up as Dean dresses but that might be because he’s  _ actually _ working rather than ignoring him. There’s coffee and breakfast on the table but it doesn’t look like Cas has eaten much. 

“What have we got?” Dean asks, sitting in the chair beside Cas. He should have moved it first. It’s too close. Their shoulders almost brush. Dean has never been so aware of the space between them. He wishes there was more.

He wishes there was less. 

He leans over to look at the screen, close enough to Cas that he can feel the warmth of his skin. He tries not to focus on that. He forces his attention to the screen. Michael is standing at the head of the table while everyone else sits. He can’t hear what is being said while Cas has the headset on, but it’s clear Michael isn’t happy. 

Dean watches him smack the table to emphasise a point.

The last time Dean had been in that room, Cas had been between him and that table. Cas had made the most amazing noises-

“Michael is outlining the myriad ways in which he’s been failed this year.” Cas says. “He’s rather insistent they all do better in the future.” 

Dean snorts into his coffee. None of them have much of a future. Michael especially. 

He pulls the other laptop towards him, his muscles only protesting a little at the strain. While Michael and his guys are meeting in one room, their goons are waiting in another. They sit around a table in Uriel’s room, playing poker of all things because the life of a henchman is nothing but cliche it seems. 

Dean slips his own headset on and listens in to the room’s conversations. He probably won’t hear anything that can be used against anyone in the inevitable trial, but they’ll probably be of more use. 

Michael’s driver, as the one closest to the boss, outranks them all. A fact he seems keen to illustrate as he tells everyone where he’s taking Michael that week. Dean notes it all down while shaking his head.  _ Where the hell do they find these guys? _

They seem less interested in the cards than they are in what their respective bosses are going to be doing over the holidays. Michael and his husband are apparently taking a vacation. The driver is taking them to the airport on-

Dean looks up even though the scene hasn’t changed. The driver is still talking as Dean gestures to Cas. 

Dean scribbles down a note and passes it over. The conversation in Uriel’s room has moved on to general talk about vacation spots, but Dean listens anyway. 

Cas reads the note and starts typing out a message to the office. Michael and his husband, Adam, will be flying out for their vacation in two days. If they’re going to take Michael down it has to be  _ directly  _ after the poker game. 

That’s going to be a problem.

It lowers their chances of a clean shot, of no witnesses. It means everyone preparing to raid the resort will need to move quickly in order to get all of Michael’s associates before they disappear in the confusion. 

Conversation moves on from vacation to the game at hand with the occasional comment about their upcoming time off. Dean listens for a while, but nothing interesting is said. From the look on Cas’ face he’s bored too. 

Dean gets up, taking his empty coffee mug with him. He debates whether or not to make one for Cas. In the end, he takes Cas’ mug too. Cas’ eyes remain on the screen. Dean can see Michael sitting down now, someone else has the floor. 

Leaning against the counter, Dean taps out a rhythm with his fingers as he waits for the coffee maker to do it’s thing. His eyes inevitably stray to watch Cas. He can’t help it and he doesn’t notice. His focus is entirely on the screen, no matter how uninteresting it is. Dean watches him and hears himself asking the question that’s been playing on his mind for days. 

“You weren’t there to take Alistair down, were you?”

He’s been thinking about Tahoe. His only failed mission. A failure Dean has always held against Cas. It had been Dean who got injured, but Cas should have gone after the target. He could have taken him out. Instead, he’d gotten Dean out of there. He’d saved Dean’s life.

Cas’ eyes don’t so much as flicker from the screen. “No. My mission was to extract you.” He taps at the keyboard, without asking why Dean should bring it up now. Of course, he wouldn’t. Cas’ focus is always on the job. 

It’s why he’s the best. Well,  _ one _ of the best. It’s why Dean’s resented him for so long. Why he’s the only one Dean has ever had to fight for missions. The guy’s probably never messed up in his life. 

Except for now. 

‘ _ I let my personal feelings cloud my judgement. _ ’ 

He hadn’t shut Dean out when Michael had arrived. Turns out he’s only human after all. 

He places the coffee beside Cas. Cas doesn’t acknowledge it, his attention still completely on his screen. Dean finds it doesn’t annoy him. He sits back down, sips his own coffee and gets back to work. 

Michael’s meeting takes a break so he can attend the mixer for the players who made it to the winner’s table. Cas watches it all on his screen while Dean comes up with contingency plans for taking out Michael. It’d be far too messy to take him out before the game. It has to be after. If they’re lucky, Michael will stay the night after the game rather than leave when it ends. Either way, they need plans. 

“Considering he keeps such a low profile, you wouldn’t expect Michael to go to one of those things.” Dean says. He gestures at Cas’ screen without looking up from his own work. 

Cas gives a thoughtful hum. 

“He said earlier than he likes this sort of thing. He doesn’t get to do it often. Zachariah was sure to impress upon him how much of it was his doing.”

“Maybe he’d get to do it more often if he wasn’t in the business of money laundering with a side of killing people?” Dean mutters. It makes Cas snort which in turn makes Dean smile before he can help it. 

“There’s a lot of talk about you,” Cas says. “Speculation that you’ve dropped out of the tournament.”

“They wish,” Dean scoffs. 

“Michael’s asking after you,” Cas says idly. It isn’t surprising. They were seated opposite each other after all, and their stacks rivalled each other. The odds have Michael or Dean, it’s going to be noticeable when one of the front runners doesn’t show. 

Dean waits for Cas to continue but he doesn’t say anything more. When he looks up, he finds Cas glaring at the screen as though it’s personally offended him. 

“What’s up?” Dean asks. 

“Zachariah is telling Michael why you’re not present. He’s quite pleased with himself.” 

Cas scowls at whatever he’s hearing. 

“Hey,” Dean calls. “You okay?” 

Cas nods but his expression doesn’t change. 

“I should have been there,” Cas says. “I never should have left you alone.” 

“You made a bad call. It happens. Forget about it and move on.” 

“Is that what you did with Hell? Forget about it and move on?” Cas asks. It sounds like a challenge but when Dean looks up, he finds nothing but sincerity in Cas’ eyes. 

Dean doesn’t want to answer that. He doesn’t have to. Cas knows. There’s a reason they call it Hell. 

“Mistakes happen. You’re only human, Cas,” Dean sighs. 

“So are you,” Cas says quietly. 

They hold each other’s gaze for a moment. Dean wants to kiss him. He’s going to kiss him. This guy who he’s spent years fighting but who has his back and knows him so well. The guy with the bluest eyes and the softest lips. He leans in to close the short distance between them but they both jerk away, alerted by something on their screens. 

“I’ve got movement,” Dean says. 

“Me too. It’s Michael.” 

“His driver’s moving. His driver and two of Michael’s guys.” Dean flicks through the feed from the various cameras so he can follow the trio as they move through the resort. 

“Is Michael leaving?” Cas asks nobody in particular. “We’re not ready. We can’t take the hit now.” 

“You could get out there,” Dean suggests, as the driver and the guards step into the elevator. It’s a dumb suggestion. Even if Cas were to go after them, there’s no way he could take Michael out without half the resort seeing. Cas dismisses the idea with a look.

“The driver’s going for the car,” Dean says. “ _ Shit. _ ” 

“He didn’t say anything about leaving,” Cas insists. “I don’t think he’s leaving.” 

“Driver’s bringing the car around front. What have you got?”

“Michael’s walking Zachariah down to meet the car. We need to call this in,” Cas says, reaching for his phone. They’re both watching the same scene unfold on their screens. Michael’s car pulls up and the two guys move to get in. Michael is saying something to Zachariah that can’t be picked up over the hotel cameras. Cas’ dials the office, bringing the phone to his ear. Neither of them look away from the screen. 

“Sam?” Cas says. “Get ready to trace the tracker I put on Michael’s car, we think he’s about-”

Cas breaks off as Zachariah slumps against Michael. It’s only for a second before one of the guys forces him into the car. But there’s nothing natural about the way he moves him. 

“Did he just-” Dean starts. He watches Michael step away from the car and back into the resort, rejoining the mixer. He rewinds the footage. Michael says something and then-“He just killed Zachariah,” Dean says, watching again the sudden slump of the guy and the awkward way he’s pushed into the car. “Michael just took out Zachariah.” 

The car takes off in no particular hurry. Cas is still on the phone, still watching and rewatching the same scene as Dean. 

“We won’t be needing that trace,” he says quietly, hanging up the phone. 

Dean watches Michael pick up a complimentary glass of champagne and join a conversation as though he hadn’t just killed one of his highest ranking associates. 

When the car returns an hour later, two guys and the driver step out. Zachariah is nowhere to be seen. 

Michael returns to his meeting and doesn’t mention Zachariah. One of Uriel’s assistants looks in on the gathered henchmen to inform them that Zachariah’s guys work for Uriel now. Nobody asks why. Nobody even comments on it. The assistant leaves and conversation carries on. 

There is nothing to do but listen and wait. At the end of the meeting, Michael returns to his suite but doesn’t do anything of interest. Dean watches him while Cas orders their dinner. 

“He really is treating this like a vacation,” Dean says, watching Michael stretch out on his couch and turn a movie on. 

“Crime bosses need a holiday too,” Cas deadpans. He joins him at the table and Dean watches him leaf through the plans they’ve made. They’re all basically the same. 

The poker game will end, Cas will take a shot at Michael as he leaves, and Bobby will be ready with a small army of local authorities to arrest every one of his associates. It’s going to be the largest operation Dean’s been a part of. Cas too. 

“We should get some rest tonight,” Cas says. “I’ll set the bugs to alert us if Michael moves, but  _ we _ need a break.” 

Dean watches him set all the necessary alerts. If anyone visits Michael, they’ll know. If Michael leaves the suite, they’ll know. If Michael does anything beyond using the bathroom or his bed,  _ they’ll know _ . 

“No more work tonight,” he decides. He’s standing so close that Dean can feel the warmth of him. It would be nothing to lean into it. He wants to lean into it. Blue eyes gaze into green as his fingers gently curl around Dean’s headset. He lifts it from him. It feels intimate and Dean wants to kiss him again. 

This time, Michael isn’t likely to murder one of his associates to distract them. 

Cas places the headset on the desk. As he turns to move, Dean reaches for him and rests his hand on Cas’ back, holding him there. Cas looks down at him, his lips parted in surprise and something else. Dean draws him in. He’s tired of fighting. He much prefers kissing. 

Cas goes willingly where Dean leads. His eyes close and his breath is warm on Dean’s lips when a knock at the door interrupts them. 

They fall apart instantly, as though they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t. Cas catches Dean’s eye and they both laugh. This is getting insane. Dean watches Cas go to the door. He sees him check that he has his gun ready and look through the eyehole to make sure it’s their dinner. 

Dean likes him. 

He  _ likes _ him. 

He wants to say it. The words are on the tip of his tongue as Cas steps into the room with their food. He wants to ask him out for that drink. He wants to tell him that he doesn’t hate him. 

He doesn’t. 

They’re one night away from completing their mission. It’ll keep. It has to. If he asks and Cas says no, their last night will be beyond awkward. Instead, Dean keeps his mouth shut except to thank Cas for ordering dinner. 

Cas places their plates on the bed and gestures for Dean to join him. He tosses the remote control onto Dean’s side of the bed. 

“You can choose the movie,” he says carelessly. 

“Dinner and a movie?” Dean teases. “We really are going all out.” 

Cas rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “We’re taking the night off.” 

It isn’t a luxury however much it feels like it. Tomorrow they’re going to take down the biggest target of their careers. Sam has been chasing this guy for years and still doesn’t have enough on him that they can take him alive. If they don’t step away from their work tonight, the anticipation will eat at them and leave them careless. 

Dean scrolls through the movie menu and chooses something festive. They’re not really going to be watching it anyway. It’s just noise while they eat and try not to think about tomorrow. Dean can usually switch off any worries or anxieties he has when it comes to the job, but they’ve never had a job quite like this one. 

His eyes dart over to Cas who watches the film with greater enthusiasm than Dean. It’s forced interest. Dean can tell from the tightness in his jaw that Cas is tense but trying to ignore it. He wants to reach for him again, but he’s right not to say anything. If he says something, it’ll just add a distraction and they don’t need that right now. 

Whatever happens with Michael tomorrow, he can ask Cas then. Dean will tell him how he doesn’t hate the guy. How he’s learned to respect him and… and so much more. He doesn’t need to think about the details right now. When Michael is dealt with and the mission is over, Dean’s going to ask Cas out for a drink.

Maybe he’ll even say yes. 

He hopes he’ll say yes. 

Cas clears away their plates, making sure Dean doesn’t have to do anything, even though most of his bruises have healed nicely over the day. When the credits roll, Cas turns off the tv and starts getting ready for bed. 

Dean glances at the clock. “Dude-” he starts but Cas cuts him off. 

“We’re getting an early night.” There’s early nights and then there’s  _ this _ . Dean looks at Cas, confused. “You, especially, need the rest. Tomorrow is going to be-” he breaks off as though he can’t quite find the word. Dean gets the idea. Given how unlikely it is that they’ll sleep anyway, an early night isn’t a bad call. 

Cas unpacks a pair of pyjamas and Dean can’t help it, he laughs. Cas pauses, he looks between Dean and the pyjamas as though he can’t see what’s so funny about them. 

They’re just pyjamas. The same ones he wore on their first night. 

“You’re seriously going to wear those?” Dean asks. It seems ludicrous that after everything they’ve seen of each other, everything they’ve done to each other, that Cas would consider his modesty now.

“Would you prefer me not to?” Cas asks. His eyes meet Dean’s levelly, without a hint of a challenge but he knows what he’s asking. 

“Wear what you want,” Dean shrugs. As though it doesn’t matter if Cas comes to bed wearing anything or nothing. 

He’d like Cas to come to bed naked, but if he makes that invitation, everything else will follow and he can’t allow them to be distracted. 

Not tonight.

Cas changes in the bathroom. 

Dean digs out the sweats he’d worn on night one and waits for the bathroom. When Cas returns, Dean can’t tell if he’s avoiding his eye or genuinely focused on putting away his clothes. 

Dean brushes his teeth, double checks the alerts they’ve set just in case, and then he just has to slide into bed. Beside Cas. 

Somehow, tonight, it all feels so intentional. Even more so than that first night when they’d hated each other. When they’d tried to sleep as far apart as possible. Dean leans over to turn the lights off and lies back. He has never been more aware of Cas beside him. 

He can’t see the ceiling in the darkness of the room, but still, Dean stares at it. His mind is racing. Have they made the right calls today? Will they get Michael? What will happen if they don’t? Will Cas want to see him after the mission? What if Dean messes up at the game and they miss their shot? 

Dean feels Cas’ hand reach for him. Their fingers tangle beneath the covers. 

“Ssh,” Cas whispers, squeezing his hand.

It helps a little. It gives Dean something else to focus on anyway. 

Cas’ hand is warm in his. 

He  _ could _ ask. Cas is holding his hand right now, his thumb soothing circles against Dean’s skin. He wouldn’t do that if he weren’t interested, right? 

Dean pulls his hand away so he can roll onto his side. 

“Cas-” he starts but Cas’ lips are already on his. Soft but urgent. 

“Ssh,” he whispers again, his breath warm on Dean’s lips. “Please.” 

Dean leans forward to kiss him again.

There is no urgency to tear at each other’s clothes, no desperation to do anything more. Dean pulls Cas into his arms and they lie, side by side, exchanging gentle kisses until, eventually, they fall asleep. 


	14. Chapter 14

The last day of the mission starts as any other. Actually, it starts with a lot less clean up from the night before. Cas wakes first. He goes for his swim and then to yoga, or at least Dean assumes he does. By the time Dean wakes up, Cas is already dripping from his shower, looking for a clean suit. 

Dean allows himself to stare a little. This might be his last chance. 

The thought twists in Dean’s gut, but he doesn’t have the luxury of thinking about it right now. 

Today is the day they take out Michael. That’s all he can afford to think about. Not how Castiel looks particularly gorgeous after a shower, walking around with just a towel wrapped around his waist. He’s seen more of Cas but he looks particularly good like this. It’s a shame to have to leave the bed and lose the view, but duty calls. 

Dean checks their equipment while Cas dresses, but nothing has changed overnight. Michael is having breakfast in his room, talking on the phone to someone. Dean listens to the conversation, briefly, but it must be his husband. Michael listens more than he speaks, and when he does, it isn’t to say anything more interesting than what he’s eating. 

He doesn’t mention Zachariah. 

Dean’s phone buzzes with the reminder to check in and he picks it up to dial the office. They’ve gotten into enough trouble over the check-ins already. Dean isn’t about to give Bobby another headache. Not today of all days. 

It’s Sam who answers. He sounds like he hasn’t slept. He probably hasn’t. 

“Anything to report?” Sam asks without preamble. 

“Good morning to you too,” Dean says, but Sam only sighs. 

“It’s been a long night, Dean,” Sam sighs. “Anything to report?” 

Dean decides against teasing him. This is the biggest job Dean’s ever been a part of but it’s Sam who has been putting it together for years. 

“Nada,” Dean says, his fingers dance across the keys so he can confirm that Michael is still in his suite. “Everything set on your end?” 

Sam hums in the affirmative but he sounds distracted. Dean can hear him typing out a message to someone else. 

“Yeah. Everyone will get into position when the game starts. When Cas takes the shot, we move.”

“It’s going to be messy,” Dean sighs. He knows that Cas will make the best shot he can but the chance of him finding a shot without any witnesses is almost non-existent. The best they can hope for is that none of the witnesses are civilians and Bobby’s guys can pick up anyone who makes a run for it. 

At least they don’t have to worry about Zachariah. One less guy to bring in. 

“Anything we need to know?” Dean asks. 

He isn’t surprised when Sam says, “no.” There’s a pause. “You and Wings are working okay together now, right?” 

His use of code doesn’t go unnoticed. Dean is speaking to his handler not his brother. 

“We’re fine,” Dean says. “Why?” 

He hears Sam scrub a hand over his face. “Bobby wanted me to check. You guys  _ were _ fighting the other day,” he says pointedly. “And it’s not like Wings to break protocol the way he did-” 

“The guy made a mistake. It happens,” Dean says. He sounds defensive but he isn’t about to be called up for that. Hell, it probably looks like they’re working well together which is what everyone wanted in the first place. 

“Okay. Just remember the plans-”

“This isn’t my first rodeo,” Dean interrupts. He knows it’s just procedure but he doesn’t need to be told how important it is to not do something reckless. He isn’t going to risk losing Michael over something stupid. 

“I know. It’s just… There's a reason Michael’s gotten away from us for so long. Be careful.” 

It’s hard for Dean to get irritated when his brother sounds so sincere. “We will.” 

There’s nothing else so he hangs up. 

“Anything new?” Cas asks.

Dean shakes his head and gets up so he can shower and dress. Their shoulders brush as they pass, but for once Dean tries not to read into it. Today they’re taking down Michael. Everything else can wait. He can’t afford to be distracted by anything today. Not even Castiel. 

If only it were that simple. 

They spend the day in the room, preparing their equipment. They check, double-check, triple-check their comms and the backups. They aren’t going to get caught out by an equipment failure. Cas checks over their guns while Dean keeps half an eye on the screens. He’s supposed to be watching Michael, and he  _ is _ . He’s just watching Cas at the same time. 

He can’t help it. 

Every now and then, Cas catches him staring but instead of looking away, he smiles. 

Michael has dinner with Uriel and the others in one of the restaurants. There’s an empty seat where Zachariah would have been sitting but nobody mentions it. Nobody has so much as said his name since Michael took him out. 

Dean hits the button to record the conversation. They’re unlikely to say anything incriminating in public and he and Cas have already gathered enough evidence to have them all put away for life, but it won’t hurt to be thorough. 

“What are they talking about?” Cas asks. He’s standing in front of the mirror making sure the shape of his gun can’t be seen as he moves. It can’t, but Dean is happy to lend an extra set of eyes just to make sure. 

“Me,” Dean smirks. “They still think I’ve dropped out.” 

He watches as Cas turns around and looks back at himself in the mirror. Dean could very easily tell him that he looks fine and he can’t tell where the weapons are concealed even though he knows exactly where to look. But where would be the fun in that? 

Michael says something that catches Dean’s attention and Cas tracks the movement as he looks to the screen. 

“What is it?” 

“Michael’s telling them he doesn’t need  _ help _ to win a poker game.” Dean turns back to watch Cas pose again. “I think he’s annoyed that Zach took out the best players.” 

“Not  _ all _ of the best players,” Cas says pointedly, his eyes catching Dean’s. It’s a small compliment but Dean can’t help but grin at it. 

Cas gives himself one last look in the mirror, straightening his jacket. “You should get ready,” he says. 

Dean nods and lets Cas take over monitoring the conversation. His suit is freshly laundered and waiting for him, hanging on the back of the closet door, courtesy of Cas, of course. 

He showers and checks himself over. He doesn’t look so bad, but he’s clearly been in a fight. The cut is still visible on his lip, but it looks okay without the swelling. The bruises around his eye and jaw have faded to yellow. It’s noticeable but perhaps the two million dollar jackpot for the table will prove distraction enough and nobody will ask about it. 

Dean slips on his suit and steps back into the room, doing exactly what Cas had done before him. He only takes the one gun, seeing as it’s not him who’s going to be taking the shot tonight. He’s going to be sitting near anyone who might want to hurt him when Michael is taken out, so he opts for a knife instead. It’s easier to conceal at a table when the room will be watching him. He still checks himself at all angles in the mirror.

He can feel Cas’ eyes track every movement he makes and resists the urge to put on a show. He really needs to focus on the mission. 

Cas isn’t going anywhere. 

Once he’s satisfied that nobody will be able to spot what he’s carrying, Dean slips in the cufflinks and reaches for his earpiece. Nobody will be able to see that either. 

“Michael’s going into the room,” Cas says, putting his own earpiece in. 

_“Comms check,”_ Sam’s voice says clearly into their ears. 

“Wings reporting in,” Cas replies. He tries to avoid Dean’s eye but Dean steps where he has no choice but to look and mouths, ‘ _ Feathers. _ ’ 

“ _Check_.”

There’s a pause while Sam waits for Dean. Normally, he’d make a joke but Sam’s voice is already strained, so Dean gives the guy a break. “Impala, reporting in.” He taps at his cufflinks, listening to the clicks over the earpiece. 

“ _Check. Alright,_ ” Sam breathes. “ _This is it._ ”

Dean helps Cas close up the laptops, they won’t be needing them anymore. They take a moment to look over the other, purely to make sure they haven’t missed anything obvious. 

“Alright, shall we?” Dean asks.

“After you, Freckles,” Cas says, holding the door for him. Dean waits for him to pull the door behind them and then holds his arm out for Cas to take. This might be his last chance. 

As expected, the moment Dean and Cas step into the room, everyone around them erupts into hushed conversations. Dean immediately hones in on Michael and with a brief glance of the room, locates the more dangerous of his guards. The chime goes to call the players to the table and Dean finds he doesn’t want to let go of Cas. 

He wants to say ‘be careful’ but why would he need to be? He’s just one of the partners, milling around at the bar, watching a high stakes match. What would he need to be careful of? But, from the look in Cas’ eyes, he’s trying not to say the same. 

Dean takes his arm back, already regretting the loss of contact when Cas cups his cheek and pulls him in for a kiss that’s a little too desperate for luck. Nobody pays them any attention, anyway. When they break apart, Cas holds Dean’s gaze for a moment longer than he needs to.

“Good luck,” he says, his hand lingering on Dean’s arm until Dean steps through the rope and approaches the table. 

The table has already been set for them, once again Dean is sitting directly opposite Michael. Everyone is eager to welcome Dean, but Michael looks particularly pleased. 

“I was afraid you wouldn’t make it,” he says, holding out his hand for Dean to shake. He says nothing of Dean’s bruises. Why would he? As far as he knows, Dean is a regular poker player. Something Dean decides to play up.

“Two million dollars is a pretty good reason to show,” Dean replies. 

“I missed you at the mixer. I was hoping we might get to know each other a little better.” 

Dean casually gestures to their chips that have already been stacked for them. “Depending on how long tonight goes on for, we might get to know each other plenty.” 

He takes in the quirk of Michael’s lips, the way he squeezes Dean’s hand before he lets it go. “I hope so,” he says, taking his seat. 

“Me too,” Dean replies, giving him one of his most charming smiles. He wasn’t expecting Michael to flirt with him, but he can use this. 

He sits as the concierge starts with his usual rundown of the rules, altered a little for the final night. There’s no time limit tonight, play will continue until there is a single winner. Given the stacks already in front of Michael and Dean, it’s clear it will be one of them. 

Michael plays with one of the smaller stacks idly, his eyes never leaving Dean. Dean smiles back, pretending to listen to the rules. His earpiece is turned down low but he can still hear the flurry of activity going on over it. Cas confirms that Michael is at the table while Sam moves everyone else into position. No doubt Bobby is sitting next to Sam. It’d be too distracting if everyone had their own comms. 

Dean taps at his cufflinks, signalling that he’s in position and then lets it all fade into the background as the first cards are dealt. 

Michael is an aggressive player and at this stage in the game, he can afford to be. It doesn’t take him long to knock out the players who were only ever going to last a few rounds anyway. The spectators spend most of their time at the bar, waiting for the excitement to begin. They’re potentially in for a long night, but Michael plays with every intention of ending it early. 

“You got somewhere you’d rather be?” Dean asks, as Michael knocks out yet another player.

The player leaves, taking his group of supporters with him.

“Everyone at the rope is one of Michael’s,” Cas says into the comms. Dean glances up and finds Cas easily. There’s a small crowd spread around him, every one of them employed by Michael. 

Michael catches Dean’s eye as he answers. “I can think of a few places.” 

Dean smiles back. It can’t hurt to keep Michael interested, but when Dean looks up, it’s Cas he sees. Cas is at the rope, watching Dean intently. He doesn’t care about the game. He’s just trying to keep Dean safe. Michael isn’t about to hurt Dean at the table and from the way he’s acting. Michael doesn’t seem about to hurt Dean at all. But still, Cas watches. Dean wants to smile at him, to reassure him, but Michael is still looking at him, so he turns his focus back to the game. 

It comes down to Dean and Michael. The concierge calls for a break while the table is set for the two of them. It hardly needs to be, given that they’re already sitting opposite each other but Dean doesn’t begrudge the opportunity to stretch his legs. It gives him the chance to find Cas. 

Cas waits for him at the bar, a drink already set aside for him. It’s only water, but Dean takes it gratefully from Cas’ hand. It feels right. Standing beside Cas, it  _ feels _ right. 

“You’re doing so well,” Cas says fondly. It doesn’t sound like an act anymore. It hasn’t sounded like an act for a while. 

Dean doesn’t sit at the bar, he really does need to stretch his legs. He paces around Cas, never venturing too far, as though tethered to him by invisible string. He feels tethered to him by  _ something _ . Something he can’t think too hard on right now when Michael is in the same room as them. 

He has to focus on the mission. 

“Having fun?” he asks. Even though Cas smiles, Dean can see the barely restrained roll of his eyes. 

“You’ve knocked out all the interesting players,” Cas says, gesturing to the room. “There isn’t much in the way of company.” 

Dean follows the wave of his hand, using it to scope the room. Only a handful of players have remained to watch the game end. Everyone else is either one of Michael’s guys or working for one of Michael’s guys. Even though Dean is the one sitting with Michael, it’s Cas he worries for, behind the rope with a sea of guys hellbent on protecting their boss. 

Cas’ hand reaches out, pausing Dean in his pacing. “I’m finding ways to keep myself entertained.”

Dean has no doubt that Cas has discovered every possible vantage point in the room that he could take out Michael from. 

The chime calling Dean back to his seat sounds all too quickly. Cas’ hand is still on his arm and he squeezes it gently. 

“Not long now,” he says. 

It might be Dean’s imagination but he thinks he sees something meaningful in Cas’ eyes. Like he can’t wait for it to be over too. He probably can’t. They’re going to ride the high of taking down Michael for a long time. 

This time when they lean into each other to kiss, neither of them pretend it’s for luck. They come together naturally, their lips meeting as though there was never any alternative. It’s brief and takes Dean’s breath away with how passionate it is. It lasts just a second but it feels like a promise. 

When they break apart, Dean takes a moment to look at Cas. His eyes are so blue. Cas is looking right back at him. He can’t say it. The ‘be careful’ or ‘stay safe’ that he wants to, but it’s there in his eyes. 

The chime sounds again and Dean leaves Cas at the bar. He’s still in his seat before Michael returns. Dean makes a show of stacking his chips while his eyes dart over the table to look for him. 

Michael is talking to Uriel, despite the chime. Uriel’s eyes glance over at Cas and Dean feels his heart stop. Have they made him? Do they know? He adjusts his cufflinks, beating a rapid triple tap into the comms. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Cas look up. He doesn’t make it obvious that he’s looking at Michael but he must notice that Uriel is looking in his direction. 

“Copy,” Cas says in Dean’s ear, but he doesn’t move from his place at the bar and Uriel doesn’t step towards him. Dean wants to go to him anyway, but he can’t. He can’t make anything obvious. He doesn’t even know why Michael should take an interest in Cas. If he knows who Cas is then Dean is in as much danger. It’s a strange thing to find he doesn’t care about that, he just wants to make sure Cas is safe. 

“And there I was hoping you might have forfeited,” Dean says, as Michael takes his seat.

Michael laughs and it sounds genuine. “Not when things are getting so interesting.” 

They don’t have time for anything more than that as the dealer breaks open a new deck of cards and starts the next round. 

There’s a strange disconnect between Dean and the table. In theory, he should be buzzing with excitement with potentially just a few plays between him and a two million dollar jackpot. In practice, it’s hard to get excited over cards when it’s simply a means to killing the man sitting opposite him. 

He knows Michael isn’t in it for the money either. He seems to be just enjoying the game but he clearly doesn’t intend to drag it out. His bets become larger and larger, slowly beating Dean down until Dean knows he’s done. 

He waits until he has something at least resembling a strong hand to tap the comms. Unless Michael has been particularly unlucky with his cards, this will be the last round. 

He sees Cas approach the rope and hears Sam readying everyone for their next move. 

This is it. 

“All in,” Dean says, meeting Michael’s gaze. He’s got a good hand but one Michael has beat, if Dean’s reading him right. 

Michael raises an eyebrow. He can no doubt read Dean just as well, but Dean is acting. He can pretend this is the last desperate move of a man trying to claw back some winnings. 

“Call,” Michael says and Dean taps the comms again to confirm it’s about to end. He looks up to see Cas’ fingers curling around the rope. His jaw is clenched, but then his husband might be about to miss out on two million dollars. He can be excused a little tension. 

Dean turns over his cards. Michael does the same, sinking back into his chair with a grin. 

“Flush,” the dealer says, ever neutral. “Mr. Milligan wins.” 

The room breaks out into applause and Dean allows his shoulders to slump, running a hand through his hair as though he can’t quite believe his luck. Michael tips the dealer and ignores everyone waiting to congratulate him in favour of rounding the table towards Dean. 

_ “Target on the move,” _ Dean hears Cas say. 

Dean rises and holds out his hand to Michael. Michael takes it, covering it with his other hand. 

“You played well,” Michael says.

“Not well enough,” Dean replies with a shrug. He shakes his head. “ _ Dammit. _ ” 

Michael releases Dean’s hand but presses gently on his arm, a gesture that he should follow. 

“What are your plans for the rest of the evening?” Michael asks, as though it isn’t already late. He leads Dean past the small crowd calling out their congratulations. Most of them are employed by him anyway. Dean can’t see Cas. 

“ _ Target heading for the foyer, _ ” Cas says on cue in his ear. 

Dean gives a non-committal shrug. “I hadn’t thought about it.” 

Michael stops walking, bringing them to a stop near the elevators. Michael presses the call button. 

“ _ I have a shot. Freckles, confirm. _ ” 

“I had a bottle of champagne put on ice to celebrate the win.” Michael tells him, his stance telling Dean everything he needs to know about what’s coming. “You’re welcome to join me.”

Cas is in his ear again.  _ “Freckles, confirm. I have a shot. _ ”

Dean’s eyes dart to the side and he sees Cas. He has a clear shot. He could take out Michael right now and only Dean would see it. It’s the perfect opportunity. Dean fiddles with his cufflinks, looking as though he’s thinking over Michael’s proposition. He’s about to confirm that Cas should just take the shot when his eyes catch Uriel stepping out of the tournament room, pausing when he sees Cas. 

He came out looking for Cas. 

Michael is still smiling at Dean, waiting. If Cas takes the shot now, there’s no way in hell Uriel won’t retaliate. Sam and Bobby have dozens of officers outside just waiting for the signal to raid the place. Not one of them will grab Uriel before he takes down Cas. 

The world seems to pause as Dean realises that he could lose Cas. That’s the nature of the job, they lose people all the time but not Cas. He  _ can’t _ lose Cas. He won’t. 

It feels as though minutes have passed, but it can only have been seconds. Far too little time to have such a realisation. They can take out Michael right here and it’ll only cost one agent. 

_ “I’m taking the shot,” _ Cas says impatiently, but Dean moves first. He steps to the side, cutting off Cas’ view of Michael. “ _ Impala, what are you- _ ” Cas breaks off when Dean kisses Michael. 

The elevator doors open and Dean practically falls into it. Michael’s arms come around his back, holding him there as breaks the kiss long enough to push the button for their floor. Then his lips are back on Dean’s and it feels wrong. There are voices shouting in his ear. Sam and Cas overlap as they try and call Dean back. But the doors are already closing behind him. He’s committed. 

“ _ Dean! What are you doing?! _ ”

“ _ Freckles! _ ”

Michael’s grip on Dean is firm and unyielding, his lips demanding more as he crowds Dean into the corner. Dean lets him, ignoring the voices, ignoring how wrong Michael feels against him. 

Michael moans into Dean’s lips. It’s nothing like the sounds Cas makes that can bring him to his knees. But, if this is what it takes to keep Cas safe. Unless the guy wants an audience it’s just going to be Dean and Michael in his suite. He just has to play along until they get to the suite. 

“ _ Dean!” _ Sam shouts. “ _ Do not go into Michael’s suite _ .  _ You need to get out of there, now.” _

Cas is there too.  _ “Please, don’t do this.” _

It’s bad enough that Michael’s tongue is now tracing the seam of Dean’s lips. He can’t do it with Cas in his ear. Dean allows his lips to part, sucking at Michael’s tongue as he raises his hands behind him. He has to cut the comms. 

“ _ Dean- _ ” Cas says, it’s a sign of desperation that he’s using his name. But he can’t. He can’t lead Michael on like this, knowing it’s Cas he wants, when Cas is begging him to stop. 

He just has to make it to Michael’s suite. That’s all he has to do.

_ “Dean, don’t! Dean, I-” _

He taps at his cufflink and his comms go dead. 


	15. Chapter 15

“ _Dean, don’t! Dean, I love you_ ,” Castiel says just as the comms click. The distinct click that means someone has disconnected. 

There’s silence on the line. Sam must still be there but he’s either reeling from Dean’s actions, Castiel’s confession, or both. He doesn’t say anything. 

“Dean?” Castiel whispers. 

Nothing. 

“ _ Dean?! _ ”

He crosses the room and jabs at the call button for the elevator, as though it could possibly arrive any sooner if just keeps pressing it. 

The very moment the elevator ‘dings’ to announce its arrival, Castiel pushes his way into it, hammering the button for his floor. 

_ “Everybody, hold position, _ ” Sam calls over the comms. “ _ No, I don’t know what he’s doing! _ ” He shouts at someone Castiel can’t see. 

Has the elevator always moved this slowly? 

“ _ Wings- _ ” Sam starts but Castiel doesn’t want to hear it.

“I’m going back to the room. We still have eyes on Michael’s suite.” 

He can hear Sam’s hesitation. Sam can still see Dean and Michael. “ _ Cas- _ ”

“I’m going back to the room,” he says firmly. He needs to see. 

It takes two attempts before his keycard lets him into the room and he lets the door slam behind him in frustration. They’d already closed the laptops. They weren’t supposed to need them again. 

Dean wasn’t supposed to-

Castiel throws open one of the laptops, waking it from its sleep with a rapid tap that’s more a smash of the keyboard than anything else. 

It still takes a moment for the screen to brighten. 

_ Come on, _ Castiel thinks, already trying to call up the feed. 

All he can see is Dean kissing Michael. The screen is still blank, but the image plays on repeat in Castiel’s mind. He sees Dean reaching for him, pulling him in close. The sounds Michael had made were just loud enough to activate Dean’s mic. Castiel never wanted to hear those sounds. He never wanted to hear them because of  _ Dean _ . 

The feed kicks in. Michael and Dean are in his suite. Michael’s jacket has fallen somewhere on the floor and Dean is reaching around him, snaking his hand underneath Michael’s shirt, stumbling against the wall. Michael’s bodyguards are in the hallway beyond, exchanging amused looks. 

Castiel feels sick. 

Michael’s hand reaches for Dean’s throat, only to pin him there so he can bring his lips to Dean’s ear, his neck-

Dean’s hand reaches between them, disappearing from view and Castiel slams the laptop shut again. 

Sam is shouting across the comms but Castiel doesn’t hear a word of it. 

Dean is going to sleep with Michael. It’s dangerous, it’s stupid, and neither of those are what bothers Castiel. 

He thought they might- 

He thought him and Dean were-

Obviously not. 

Castiel is in love with Dean Winchester. Dean hadn’t heard it. He’d been too busy kissing another man to hear it. 

Castiel buries his face in his hands. Sam is still shouting, desperately trying to keep a hold on the operation. The a small army of authorities waiting to arrest everyone associated with Michael, now have to wait because Dean decided to fuck the target. 

It would be funny if it didn’t hurt so much. 

“ _ What the hell is he thinking? _ ” Sam hisses.

Castiel doesn’t answer. He has no answer. He only knows that Dean isn’t thinking of him. 

He’s a breath away from taking out his earpiece. He doesn’t want to hear anymore. He doesn’t want to hear about how the man he loves is sleeping with the target. His fingers brush through his hair when all hell breaks loose. 

“ _ Feathers?! Where the hell are you?! _ ” Dean’s voice roars in his ear. 

Castiel sits up, “Dean?”

“ _ Target is down, repeat, target is down. Feathers, where the fuck is my backup?! _ ” 

Dean’s calls are drowned out by Sam shouting commands over the line. But then, Castiel hears something else. The distinct sound of gunshots muffled by the floors that separate Castiel from the VIP suite. 

Castiel grabs the gun hidden at his hip and throws himself into the hallway. Uriel is there with one of Michael’s faceless guards. Neither of them have drawn their own weapons which makes it easier for Castiel to rush them. He strikes at a pressure point at Uriel’s neck, sending him crashing to the ground. The other guard throws a punch which Castiel easily sidesteps. He brings the butt of his gun across the guard’s head, making sure only that the blow was enough to knock him out before he rushes into the stairwell. 

“Uriel is down, second floor,” he says into his mic. He hears Sam making a note of it and passing it on before Dean shouts over them.

“ _ Stop fucking around with Uriel and get up here! _ ”

“I’m en route,” Castiel says, taking the stairs two at a time. 

_ “The resort is secure, _ ” Sam tells them. “ _ Backup is coming, Dean. _ ” 

Castiel barrels through the door that leads to Michael’s suite. Several of Michael’s guards have their guns drawn, shooting at intervals into the bedroom where Dean has taken cover. 

Castiel takes cover himself and calls over, “CIA, drop your weapons!” 

There’s a pause in the shooting, but Castiel doesn’t step out of his cover. 

“We have the building surrounded.  _ Drop your weapons. _ ” He shouts again. 

This time there’s a distinct clatter as guns are thrown to the ground. They know they’re done and they already know their boss is dead.

“We need backup in the VIP suite,” Castiel tells Sam, but as he finishes speaking, several of Bobby’s guys run out of the stairwell. They pass Castiel with barely a nod, already calling out the Miranda rights to Michael’s men. 

“ _ We’re clear, _ ” Dean says, his voice laced with relief. 

Castiel steps out from his cover, his gun still in his hand, just in case. He passes the small team of officers arresting Michael’s guards and steps into the bedroom where Dean stands, scowling at Castiel. 

“Took you long enough!” 

“Dean-” Castiel starts, but he breaks off when he sees a red stain under Dean’s jacket. “Dean, you’re hurt!” 

Dean glances down and shakes his head. “It’s fine, Cas. It’s not my blood.” He gestures to the corner of the room, towards the wall where Castiel had last seen him kissing Michael. Michael is slumped on the floor, unmoving. His eyes still turned to where Dean had held him. 

“ _ We got them _ ,” Sam says. “ _ Bartholomew tried to run but they’re bringing him in now. You did it, guys. _ ” 

“You need us for anything else?” Dean asks. It’s unlikely. They’ve already done their part. 

“ _ No, you’re good. _ ” Sam says. There are already people stepping into the room to pick up Michael. The only thing Castiel and Dean can do is get out of their way, pack up their equipment and prepare for the inevitable mountain of paperwork. It feels almost anti-climactic. Something unfinished lingers in the air, but however much Castiel would like to cross the room and throw himself at Dean, now is not the time. 

They head for the elevator, heading back to their room. Sam is still talking but nothing he says is for Dean or Castiel. They exchange a look and in unison, sign off. Castiel takes out his earpiece, slipping it into his pocket. Neither of them say anything as the doors open on their floor. 

There’s an awkward silence between them as Castiel waits for Dean to go ahead. Dean opens the door to their room and Castiel nudges it closed behind them. It shuts with a sound of finality and the tension between them snaps.

They rush towards each other, Dean’s arms coming around Castiel as he kisses every part of him he can reach. 

_ “What the hell were you thinking? _ ” Castiel demands breathlessly, kissing Dean’s lips, his cheeks, his forehead. “You could have been killed!”

“I was trying to save your life,” Dean says, pulling at Castiel’s jacket, throwing it carelessly aside. His own joins it a moment later. 

“My life?” Castiel’s fingers start unbuttoning Dean’s shirt. They’re trembling but he manages it. Dean just tears at Castiel’s shirt, another one ruined but he doesn’t care if it means he can feel Dean’s skin against his. 

“Uriel would have killed you,” Dean says. One hand cups Castiel’s face. “I couldn’t- I couldn’t lose you, Cas.” 

This time when he kisses him, it’s gentle. Tender. Castiel’s fingers curl around Dean’s head, drawing him impossibly closer. He never wants this moment to end. Dean breaks the kiss, resting their foreheads together. 

“I love you,” Castiel says. It sounds too sudden but he’s already said it once and Dean didn’t hear. He needs him to hear it. He needs him to know. 

Dean kisses him again. 

And again.

He doesn’t stop for a long time and Castiel is happy not to let him. 

Dean pulls back, his breath still warm on Castiel’s lips. “Say it again.”

“I love you.” He’ll say it as often as Dean wants. 

Dean leans in again to kiss him. 

“I love you,” Castiel breathes as Dean moves to his jaw. “I love you.” 

“ _ Cas, _ ” Dean sighs, having trailed his lips along Castiel’s jaw to his ear. “I love you too.” 

This time when their lips collide, it is anything but tender. 

They crash onto the bed together, neither of them willing to let the other go. Castiel’s hands pull Dean towards him, drawing him in. He’s never going to let go. 

He rolls them so he can straddle Dean’s hips, still refusing to break the kiss. He has to eventually. They can’t strip out of what clothes remain if they don’t. When Dean’s lips move from his, Castiel can’t help the pained groan that escapes him. It feels criminal not to have those lips on his. 

It’s only for a moment while Dean’s hands go to his pants, throwing them aside to join the rest of their clothes strewn across the room. Then they’re wrapped around each other again, Castiel holding on as though his life depends on it. He isn’t entirely sure it doesn’t. 

Dean looks up at him as though Christmas has come early. As though he can’t quite believe his luck to have Castiel in his lap like this. As though  _ he’s _ the lucky one. 

“I love you,” Castiel whispers as he leans down to kiss him. He can’t stop saying it but it’s clear Dean doesn’t mind. His eyes dance with it, his hips roll beneath Castiel’s, urging him on. 

Castiel can refuse Dean nothing. He reaches for the drawer where they’ve stashed the lube and the condoms. 

“No,” Dean says, taking the small packet from Castiel and tossing it back in the drawer. “I want to feel you.” 

Castiel stops breathing for a moment, but manages a shaky nod. He’d never thought he’d be able to have this. And  _ this  _ is so much more than he thought it could be. 

He takes the lube with him as he slides from Dean. He kneels at the end of the bed, kissing his way across Dean’s thighs. 

“ _ Cas- _ ” Dean groans impatiently. His cock stands before Castiel, practically begging to be kissed. 

Castiel leans in, running his tongue up the length of it, soaking in the way Dean sighs at the contact. 

While his mouth sucks and kisses at Dean’s cock, he clicks open the lube, coating his fingers and reaching to gently press against Dean’s ass. Dean takes his first finger easily as he grinds his hips down, desperate for more. 

Castiel could do this all night. Dean feels so perfect in his mouth and he makes the most amazing sounds as Castiel fingers him. He doesn’t even care that his own cock is so hard it almost hurts. Warmth settles into every part of Castiel as he realises they can do this all night. If not tonight then any other. 

Dean loves him.

Dean isn’t going anywhere. 

It’s that thought that has Castiel slicking his cock, pulling himself back onto the bed, desperate to taste Dean’s lips again. He breaks the kiss so he can see Dean’s eyes when he slides into him. 

“ _ Oh, Dean, _ ” he breathes and it sounds like ‘I love you’. 

They stay like that a while. Kissing each other softly, until Dean shifts his hips. It isn’t much but it’s enough for Castiel to start moving. His thrusts are slow and measured but they don’t stay that way for long. They can’t. Not when Dean feels so good around him, not when he’s kissing him so filthily. 

Not when Dean loves him back. 

Castiel links their fingers, curling them around Dean’s in a gesture somehow more intimate than anything else they’re doing right now. Dean’s hand reaches between them, stroking himself in time with Castiel’s thrusts. 

Castiel can’t decide whether he wants to kiss away every sound Dean is making or whether he wants to watch him come undone beneath him. The decision is made for him when Dean bites his lip on a groan, his rhythm stuttering as he spills between them and  _ oh _ , the look on his face. 

Castiel comes with Dean’s name falling from his lips like a prayer. 

In the aftermath, Castiel collapses beside Dean, but he doesn’t let him go too far, bringing their lips together again and again. 

They need to clean up, but moving seems like too much effort for either of them, so Castiel grabs his shirt off the floor to act as a washcloth. The buttons are already ripped anyway, the shirt is beyond saving. 

Somehow, without losing touch of each other, they manage to slip beneath the bedcovers. There’s a mountain of paperwork waiting for them both and Sam’s going to need their help organising all the evidence they’ve gathered but it can wait.

It can all wait. 

They’ve earned this one night. 

Castiel rests his head on Dean’s chest, tracing patterns into his skin and smiles. There will be much more than just this one night. 

“Hey, Feathers,” Dean murmurs, kissing the crown of Castiel’s head. “Got any plans for Christmas?” 

Castiel adjusts his position so he can look up at Dean with a smile. “Plenty.” He kisses him, softly, gently,  _ lovingly _ . “And they all involve you.”


End file.
